


Destiny

by DeandraAlleyan



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Eothiriel - Freeform, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27393160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeandraAlleyan/pseuds/DeandraAlleyan
Summary: All her life, the prophecy had shadowed everything she did.  Now that she was of age, and the world seemed to be ending, was it possible the Istar had been mistaken?Complete in 8 chapters.
Relationships: Éomer Éadig/Lothíriel
Comments: 34
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> __  
> **Opening note: A reader suggested this idea and, after consideration, I thought perhaps it could be fleshed out to make a full-fledged story…and yet another E/L scenario. I named Imrahil’s wife 'Sirrin', and use that whenever she is included in a story I write.**  
> 
> 
> Dedicated to AbsentMinds, who has been such a faithful commenter as I've posted these stories. Much appreciated, m'dear!

**Destiny**

**Prologue (3002 III)**

In the year 2999 of the Third Age, Imrahil of Dol Amroth and his wife Sirrin had a little girl born into their family. Both rejoiced at this special gift since all their previous children had been male, and the entire family doted on the infant. When the child was a precocious three years of age, the family went to visit their kin in Minas Tirith. Imrahil’s sister, Finduilas, had been married to the Steward Denethor, but died many years past. While Imrahil did not share a close relationship with his brother-in-law, he was quite fond of his two nephews.

Both young men had turned out well, despite the death of their mother when they were but children, and Imrahil was eager to see them before duty made it more difficult. Boromir was already deeply engaged in military matters, having a natural bent for it, even at but twenty-four seasons. Faramir, too, was learning the ways of war, though he was a more reluctant pupil. His was a gentler, more temperate nature, and though he knew the evil of Mordor made his participation essential, he did not revel in death or destruction, even of an enemy.

The family arrived on an overcast autumn day, but as the boat pulled into the Harlond, the sun finally came out. The warmth and brightness of it lifted their spirits, despite the gloom of being so near Mordor. Carriages were quickly secured to transfer the family to the city, and Lothiriel was all eyes, staring from the window at the great city looming up the side of the mountain. Her brothers had been here before, and were far more interested in the horses, the soldiers much in evidence and planning their activities in the White City.

The family had a townhouse situated on the Sixth Level, on the North side. Word had been sent on ahead to ready the house for their arrival, and so they were met with bustling servants who quickly saw to their needs and soon had them settled in their rooms.

Less than an hour later, a knock sounded at the door, and Faramir stood eagerly on the doorstep. Sirrin, who had been talking with servants to arrange the household, looked up and smiled warmly. “Faramir!” she called to him, as the doorman stepped aside to admit him. “How good to see you again!

He hurried forward, reaching for her hand to kiss it, but she drew him into an embrace. “None of that formality, Nephew! Oh, how you have grown! It seems ages since I have seen you and Boromir. He is well, as are you?”

Faramir grinned boyishly at her and nodded. “We both are. He is with the garrison at Osgiliath at present, but will return day after tomorrow. I sent word of your visit and he is eager to meet his newest cousin!” 

A thunder of feet just then drew their attention, and said new cousin raced down the stairs as fast as she could safely manage. At the sight of the tall man with her mother, however, she skidded to a halt and stood silently staring. Sirrin held out a hand to her, signaling her forward. “Come and meet your cousin Faramir, dearest.”

Shyly, Lothiriel drew nearer, edging close to her mother and seizing her hand for reassurance, somewhat hiding behind her skirts.

“Say hello, Lothiriel,” her mother instructed, but the child turned and buried her face in her mother’s skirt without speaking.

Faramir smiled as he knelt down to put himself more on Lothiriel’s level. “It is a very great pleasure to meet you, Lothiriel. I have been eager to do so ever since hearing of your birth. And such a pretty name, too. Do you know what it means?”

Unable to resist her curiosity, the little girl peeked out at him and shook her head. Sitting down on the floor, Faramir unwrapped a parcel he had been carrying and drew forth a circle made of flowers braided together. “It means ‘flower-garlanded maiden’, and on my way here I stopped and bought some flowers for your hair. Shall I put them on you?”

With a toothy grin, she finally drew near him and lisped excitedly, “Yes, please!”

He smiled at the politeness, even from one so young. Manners were greatly stressed in Imrahil’s house, though as Sirrin had demonstrated, once they were completely ingrained there were times when they might be set aside for familiarity.

The little girl quickly warmed to her cousin after that, and he very nearly regretted his success in winning her over for she attached herself to his side almost as a leech. Her constant press for his attention made it difficult to greet his other relatives, but it was accomplished around the little girl’s prancing and twirling to show off the adornment of flowers he had given her.

The three boys adored and admired their older cousins, greatly impressed by their military activities and wanting to hear all about them. Boromir was more apt to speak at length on such matters, but Faramir tended to give only cursory responses before shifting the conversation to more genteel subjects. Even so, he told the lads enough to almost satisify them.

Faramir joined the family for a late dinner, before all made their way to the Citadel and an afternoon audience with Steward Denethor. Health and circumstances had prevented Sirrin and Lothiriel coming to the White City since the little girl’s birth, so this would be Denethor’s first time meeting his niece. Privately, Faramir thought his father little interested in the child other than random thoughts of how she might be useful to him when she was older and could form an advantageous marriage, but the Steward well knew how to preserve important connections. Not only was Imrahil of Dol Amroth related to him through marriage, but he was also prince over the largest fief in Gondor. It would not do to slight such a man and his family, however tedious it might be dealing with them.

Once the meal was ended, the family walked up through the streets to the highest level. Lothiriel was trying to skip on ahead, gazing raptly around her at all the new and wondrous sights, but Faramir had a firm grasp on her hand and kept her from straying far.

Just as they neared the tunnel that would take them to the gate, a familiar figure was seen talking to one of the guards. 

“Mithrandir! Come meet my niece, Lothiriel!” Faramir eagerly called to the wizard.

Slowly the old man turned to eye them, before coming to join them and gaze upon the child looking up at him with wide-eyed wonder. “Lothiriel, is it?” He fell silent for several long moments and no one spoke. Finally he murmured, “An appropriate name as it happens, for one day she will be garlanded with a crown rather than flowers. One day she will wed a king.”

Utter silence met this pronouncement and, presently, Mithrandir looked around the group and smiled, his eyes twinkling with merriment. “If you will excuse me, now, I have business in the archives. A pleasure meeting you, Lady Lothiriel. I have no doubt our paths will again cross.”

All eyes followed the Istar as he moved away from them, more than a little stunned by his remark. “Well, that was…unexpected,” Faramir commented, and the others smiled at the understatement. “Come. Father is waiting.”

They moved on toward the Seventh Level, but Imrahil could not turn his mind from Mithrandir’s prophetic statement. _Lothiriel would wed a king?_ That was quite a future, if it was true. What could it mean?

Once in Denethor’s presence, Lothiriel was set before him, and he smiled down at the child. His position and the threat of Mordor weighed heavily on him, but he tried to be agreeable with the relatives of his wife. Without thinking, Faramir mentioned their encounter with Mithrandir on the way to this audience, and told of the strange prediction he had made. None really noticed how Denethor’s smile froze and his eyes hardened. _They_ might not know what to make of such a statement, but he had more insight. 

Could it mean anything other than that the king would return to claim the throne of Gondor, displacing the Steward? What other king could Lothiriel marry but the King of Gondor when he came?

All present knew that Denethor had grown aloof in the years since his wife’s death, so his sudden coldness was not entirely unusual. He forced slight smiles and spoke the appropriate words, but clearly his heart was not in it. While Faramir delighted in the child, and later Boromir treated her with great kindness also, Denethor was distanced by his thoughts and worries as to the meaning of Mithrandir’s prophecy.

Thus, in the years ahead, Denethor could never warm to his niece, for she represented all that he feared and resented – the possible return of the usurper. The Steward never spoke of the reason for his frostiness toward Lothiriel, but there were some who could guess the source of his enmity. For her part, Lothiriel had grown up thinking Denethor a proud, disagreeable man, and had long since ceased caring if she had his approbation.

**Chapter 1 (2 March, 3019 III)**

Lothiriel gazed out at the sea from her bedchamber balcony, lost in thought. When she was a child, she frequently heard someone comment on the prophecy of an Istar named Mithrandir regarding her. She had met the old gentleman a number of times in her life, always being rather in awe of him, if for no other reason than his odd appearance, with pointed hat and staff in hand. Each time they met, it seemed he gazed at her with knowing in his eyes, though he himself never reiterated the comments he had made upon first seeing her at three years of age.

For a child, being told one would someday marry a king sounded like a fairy story, and she had happily played at games pretending to be a queen. Her father was, after all, the Prince of Dol Amroth. It seemed perfectly natural that she would one day be a queen. Only as she grew older did she begin to understand the implications of the prophecy. 

In her sphere of reference, there were only two kingdoms – Gondor and Rohan. While others might exist, it was unlikely she would be allied to a king of such as those, and even the prospect of marriage to Rohan seemed a remote possibility. The two countries had once had strong ties of friendship, but more recently Steward Denethor had become suspicious, even distrustful, of their neighbors and relations were strained. Dale might be a consideration, though they were far distant and tended to keep to themselves, and the realms of Harad had largely chosen to support the Dark Lord, so she could not think there was apt to be an alliance there any time soon.

It was said that Rohan had a single heir to the throne, a man by the name of Theodred. Unable to suppress her curiosity, Lothiriel had managed to learn that he was as old as her cousin Boromir, making him more than twenty years her senior. Regardless of his status, or even if he was both agreeable and desirable, she could not quite envision romance and marriage with a man old enough to be her father.

That left the possibility that Gondor’s heir, if one yet existed, would return to claim the throne. While all of Gondor seemed to hope for such a thing, she did not think there were many who truly believed it would ever happen. If he existed, why had he not revealed himself by now? No, it was more likely the line was ended and there was no king to come forth.

So, could that mean that Mithrandir had been mistaken? Or had it been a possibility when she was three but circumstances had altered since then? She sighed with frustration. She had been groomed as if it were to be so. Though she knew the majority of the instruction she received in being a proper lady of a royal court was necessary, even if she was never more than the daughter of Prince Imrahil, she had always been aware of the deeper, unspoken reason behind it.

Over the years, as her understanding of the situation increased, she found it did not seem so exciting a prospect as she had envisioned as a child. She had tried warming to the idea of marriage to Rohan, learning all she could of that land, but try as she might, it was too far away and too strange for her to be comfortable with the notion. And, yet, did she have a choice? Was the prophecy inevitable or could she refuse it? And how would those who knew of it, which seemed to be virtually everyone, react if she were to balk?

The wind had picked up as the sun set, and the air turned chill, so she withdrew inside and closed the doors behind her. She supposed it did not need to be decided at this moment. From what she had been overhearing, and surmising from snatches of conversations between her father and brothers, Mordor might well destroy them all before she ever had to confront such a destiny.

And then, of course, this Theodred would need to learn of her existence, meet her and then seek a courtship. She supposed until that happened, there was nothing to worry about. Possibly once she knew him she would come to love him, but no amount of practicality would quite let her be reconciled to all of this.

She had just lit a candle when a knock came at her door. Upon answering it, her maidservant informed her that supper would be served in a quarter of an hour, so she tidied her hair and clothes before making her way to the dining chamber. Generally, her father made it a point not to discuss military matters in front of her, not wanting to frighten or alarm her, but occasionally she wandered in on such. She was used to them curtailing their conversation when she appeared, but now Imrahil and his sons turned to look at her. She could not quite read the expression in their eyes or on their faces, but it made her uneasy. She had caught the word ‘departure’ as she was entering and she feared bad news was coming.

Even so, not until supper was ended and the servants had cleared away all but their tea did Imrahil venture to enlighten her. She was rather surprised when he bid her remain, and something in her mother’s countenance set her stomach churning with agitation.

All eyes were on Imrahil. Though her brothers likely knew what he would say, and possibly even her mother did also, it was expected he would be the one to voice it for Lothiriel’s benefit.

With a sigh, he began. “I have tried not to worry you, dearest, with the difficulties we face, but now it cannot be avoided. The threat of Mordor grows daily and Denethor has requested we come. Your brothers and I will depart two days hence, to take the Swan Knights and an army of seven hundred to aid Minas Tirith’s defense. Elphir will remain here with you and your mother, to assist in the rule of the City and to oversee the protection of Dol Amroth. I do not expect our city to come under attack, for I think the Dark Lord will focus all his efforts on destroying Minas Tirith first, but if the White City falls, then it is only a matter of time before the rest of Gondor crumbles as well.”

Lothiriel wondered how she could still be conscious when it seemed as though she had stopped breathing. Regardless of what she had imagined, this was far worse than expected.

Her father continued, “I confess, I had hoped Mithrandir’s prediction regarding you all those years ago might have signaled a brighter future than this for all of us, but it seems it is not to be. Be strong, my beloved child, and do all you can to help your mother and brother protect our people. And whatever else, know how very much I love you.”

All eyes were on her, and she wondered what they expected her to do or say. Swallowing hard, she spoke the first words that came to mind. “Safe journey, Father. May the Valar watch over you and see you safely home to us.”

None were fooled by her benign response, but there was nothing that could be said to reassure her that all would be well. They could not be certain if things _would_ be well, and there was a very strong possibility that they would not all sit at the same table again once this was ended.

“Is…is there anything you wish me to do to help you prepare?” Lothiriel managed to croak out, in a voice that sounded nothing like her own.

Realizing it might help her to be useful, Imrahil suggested, “Your mother will assist me, but perhaps you will help Erchirion and Amrothos ready themselves. We must travel quick and light, so there will be no room for finery. Time is of the essence.”

After that, no one seemed to know what more to say, but none was willing to be the first to break their circle and leave the table. They lingered for nearly half an hour, sipping at their tea and talking quietly. At length, Imrahil decisively rose to set things in motion, and the family followed his lead.

Lothiriel watched silently as her parents left the dining chamber arm in arm. Although she was used to seeing them walking thus, now her mother seemed almost to cling to her father’s arm, as though wanting to hold him close to her. Amrothos’ teasing voice broke her reverie, and she jumped slightly as he caught her by the waist. “Come. You can help me decide what to pack. Let Erchirion fend for himself!”

Erchirion made a face at the two of them, but allowed them to exit the room without commenting. The pair had always been close, since Amrothos was nearest to Lothiriel in age, and likely it would help her most to spend some time with him.

xx

Two days later, at dawn, the family gathered in the yard below the castle steps. Lothiriel’s face was drawn and tired, not having slept well. Her tears were long since shed. She had clung to Amrothos and sobbed that night Imrahil made the announcement, and it was very late before progress was made toward packing any of his belongings. She had wept into her pillow as well, though she had tried to make sure she was not heard. Now, as she watched the final preparations, she felt totally depleted, as though there was no moisture left in her body to come forth. Even her mouth felt dry as dust, and she swallowed several times in an attempt to relieve it.

At last the moment came for the final hugs, and kisses pressed to forehead or cheek. Imrahil and Sirrin tightly held each other for several long minutes before stepping resolutely away from one another. Without speaking, Imrahil turned and stepped up into the saddle, and his sons followed suit. Elphir and Lothiriel moved in closer beside their mother, each linking an arm with her. With a final nod to his family, Imrahil signaled the troop forward and they slowly filed out of the yard. The three stood in silence and watched until they exited the gate at the bottom of the long sweeping drive out of the castle grounds.

_TBC_

3002: Elphir – 15, Erchirion – 12, Amrothos – 8, Lothiriel – 3 ; Boromir – 24, Faramir – 19

Brythred – (“wisdom giver”)  
Dreng – (“youth”)  
Alcathir – (“shining face”) – wife of Elphir  
Sirrin – (“river queen”)


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 (April, 3019 III)**

Lothiriel wearily wiped the sweat from her face. Even now, the people were still lined up, waiting to get the food being offered. With so many men fighting, supplies were very low and they had been rationing all food that could be gathered into the city to stretch it as far as possible. Now that word had come of the war’s end, and their victory, it was expected that the situation would ease, but as yet there was no sign of it. The population of the city had swelled with refugees from the countryside seeking safety there during the War. Additionally, some of the less wounded men were being sent south on boats for treatment by the healers at Dol Amroth, since Minas Tirith’s healing houses were overflowing. Dol Amroth had never seemed so small and cramped before.

She could not remember the last time she had slept well and long. It almost seemed that the moment her father had ridden north, her life was changed forever. Gone were the sumptuous dinners and lively balls. They had been replaced by the ever-present fear, and worry about loved ones who had gone to fight. Word had come that her father and brothers were safe, though both Erchirion and Amrothos had suffered minor wounds.

She could not even conceive of what they must have faced, first on the Pelennor and then riding to the Black Gate, in the evil heart of Mordor itself. Though she had been sheltered prior to her father leaving, since then her mother and brother had made it a point to see that she was well informed of their circumstances. Now was not the time to turn a blind eye to the truth, and before the end they had feared Lothiriel might be called upon to lead their people in some capacity. She could not do that from a wholly innocent view of life.

Lothiriel could have wished never to receive such an education. Dreaming of marrying kings was a much more pleasant way of passing one’s time, even if you had reservations about it. Now, many weeks later, she had come to realize just how little she knew of life. Truth was, before this, she did not think she would have suited to serve as a queen. Ruling a country required far more than pretty dresses and a charming manner. She had watched her mother in awe, astonished by the grace and dignity with which she reigned in Imrahil’s stead. True, Elphir was ever by her side, to assist as needed, but truly her mother had ruled Dol Amroth of late. Lothiriel had never given much thought to her mother’s role as Princess of Dol Amroth, but now she regarded her with far greater admiration and respect. She knew the people loved her parents, and it was quite evident why that was so.

“Lothiriel?” Her brother’s voice drew her from her thoughts. “That is the last of it. Let the others finish here. We should be returning home now.”

Nodding, she took his offered arm and the two exited, with calls of thanks from the grateful citizens following them to the door. They had walked some way before she asked, “Have we heard anything more from Father and when they will be returning home?”

Elphir pursed his lips. “A letter came this morning, but I did not have a chance to tell you of its contents earlier.” He paused, then told her, “Father says the king will be crowned in Minas Tirith on May first, and he wishes us to be there for the festivities. Mother and I are to set things in order here, and then the three of us will travel north in four days’ time.”

Lothiriel considered this information before asking, “Will that be enough time? Food is still scarce. I am not sure we should leave if the people are not provided for in our absence.”

“We have word from some of the provinces that they are able to resume deliveries. The first shipments should arrive tomorrow or the next day, and the fishermen are quickly getting back to their tasks. I have commissioned several to provide their entire take for distribution, save only what they need for their own families. There will not be a bounty for some time yet, but there should be enough, and the worry over it should be eased.”

She glanced down at her dress, unsightly stains on it that had stubbornly refused to be cleaned. Many of her dresses looked similar as there had been little provision for new dresses to replace them, and like it or not she had needed to wear them as she worked. They were kept clean, but they hardly were the sort of thing one could wear to a royal coronation. Once she had owned a closet full of fine gowns, but cloth was scarce, and they had been picked apart and remade into clothing for those in need.

As if reading her thoughts, Elphir patted her hand reassuringly. “Mother has kept aside some clothing in hopes this day would come. There should be things to wear that will be appropriate, even if there is not a great breadth of selection. You may end up wearing the same gown for several occasions, but it cannot be avoided. And everyone else will be suffering the same so it should not cause undue comment.”

Unavoidably her thoughts turned to this new king they were to crown. Was he the fulfillment of Mithrandir’s prophecy regarding her? She knew little about him, but it seemed impossible he could be any younger than her cousins from Minas Tirith, which made him decidedly older than her.

“Did Father say anything more about the king we are to have? Where did he come from, and why did he not come to our aid sooner?” she asked quietly.

Elphir shrugged. “Actually, Father mentioned that he was the same man Father had known years ago called Thorongil, who served Steward Ecthelion. He served both Rohan and Gondor as a soldier, before disappearing again. I do not think Father knows precisely why he chose not to reveal himself until now, but surely there was a good reason.”

Lothiriel considered this; if such was the case, the man must be near to her Father’s age or older! This was even worse than when she had worried about marrying the heir of Rohan. “You said Rohan answered our call for help. Will the Rohirrim still be there for the coronation? It should be interesting to see these people of whom we have only ever heard stories.”

Elphir nodded. “They will be there. Father says King Elessar and the new king of Rohan are the best of friends, almost as brothers.”

“New king of Rohan?” Lothiriel asked, frowning.

“Yes. Theoden King died on the Pelennor, and apparently his son was killed in Rohan before they set out to come to our aid. The King named his nephew as his successor – a man named Eomer. From what Father writes, he is an impressive man.”

“An impressive warrior, you mean! What he knows of the man was learned on a battleground, but likely tells little of him personally!” she observed wryly.

“I suppose,” Elphir laughed. “But Father admires him greatly, and you know Father is not easily misled as to a man’s character.” He gave his sister a sidelong glance, wondering if these questions were connected to Mithrandir’s prediction regarding her, but he refrained from asking. The last few years he had gotten the impression she was not overly excited at the prospect as she had been when she was but a girl.

The rest of their walk to the castle was made in silence, and Elphir excused himself from her in the entry hall. Lothiriel watched him move to their father’s study before finally turning to climb the stairs to her room. Changing from the soiled dress, she slipped on a clean gown as she stepped over in front of her mirror. Critically she examined her appearance, trying to see it as another might – as a man might.

She was often told she was pretty, though she had never thought much about it. Looking closely, it seemed her eyes were too big for her face and her nose too small. The family was rumored to have elvish ancestry, but if that was so, she did not think it did her justice. She had always heard of the legendary beauty of the Firstborn, but in her everything seemed slightly imperfect, not coming together so pleasingly as it must in Elves.

She would possibly meet Elves soon. They had been so little seen in Middle-earth that she had thought they all must have sailed away long ago, but her father’s letters indicated there were several of the Eldar in their ranks, friends of the new king. She gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. Did Elves have kings? If so, that added another new possibility to her dilemma. Did Elves marry into the race of Men? Could Mithrandir have meant one of them?

She groaned in frustration. Why did he have to make that awful prediction all those years ago and ruin her life! If she was to marry a king, why did he not just keep it to himself and let it happen, without her having to worry and wonder about it in advance!

xxxxx

Always before, Lothiriel had looked forward to visits to Minas Tirith, but none of those previous visits had risked her coming face to face with a king – or more than one king. She wanted to be sanguine about this whole matter, but she could not quite muster it.

As the boat was being secured to its mooring, she waved to her cousin waiting on the pier. At least it was a relief to see for herself that Faramir was well. Her father’s letters had told them of Denethor’s despair and subsequent demise, and how near to death Faramir had come several times. Even from here, he looked tired, but there was a happiness in his countenance that she did not recall having seen for years. Something seemed changed about him.

Lothiriel’s eyes flicked to the blond-haired woman standing near him, and when he turned to speak to her, his face lit up. In an instant, Lothiriel realized that her cousin was in love – with this woman. But who was she? Imrahil had not mentioned it, so it seemed likely he was unaware of their association. Few in Gondor had flaxen hair, and most that did had originally come from the west, but she was not aware of any nobles from that land unless something had changed since she was last here. Perhaps she had traveled with the army, but her father’s description of it had not made it sound as though anyone other than soldiers were in their number.

Her mother, too, had glimpsed the warmth between Faramir and the woman. “Interesting,” she murmured. “Who is this woman who has so captivated our dear Faramir?”

Lothiriel grinned at the question, and the two moved eagerly toward the plank to exit the boat now that they could. Faramir helped each down from the walkway and, unexpectedly, he dispensed with formality and gave them both a hug and kiss to the cheek. “Welcome! It is so good that you could come!”

Sirrin drew back and looked him up and down now that she was closer. “You are recovered? Imrahil did not give many details of your injuries.”

“I am well,” he assured her. “The shoulder still aches a bit at times, but that is all. As for the Black Breath, we must thank our new king. The hands of the king were indeed the hands of a healer. I was not the only one to benefit from his efforts in that regard.” 

His eyes flicked behind him to where the woman waited, and Sirrin took that as her opening to inquire further. “And who is this that accompanies you, dearest. I do not believe we have met.”

Readily Faramir turned to draw the woman into their circle. “May I introduce Lady Eowyn of Rohan. She is sister-daughter to Theoden King, now dead and lying in our Hallows. Her brother is the new king. Lady Eowyn, I would have you meet my Aunt, Sirrin, wife of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, and her daughter, Lothiriel.”

Curtsies were executed by all, though Lothiriel swallowed hard. The King’s sister! One of the last people she would have wished to encounter, and just her luck that Faramir seemed smitten with her. Now she would never be able to completely avoid the man!

“How generous of you to come with Faramir to greet us,” Sirrin was saying, causing Eowyn to blush.

Smoothly, Faramir interjected, “We both have spent too long in the Houses of Healing, and greatly desired fresh air to breathe. And Lady Eowyn had never seen such a place as the Harlond for they do not have anything like it in the Riddermark.”

Sirrin latched on to one part of his remarks, asking, “You were unwell, my dear lady? I am most sorry to hear your visit to our land has made you indisposed.”

“Not unwell,” Eowyn said hesitantly, glancing at Faramir. Then, her jaw tightening, she added, “I rode to Gondor’s defense with my countrymen.”

Lothiriel audibly gasped at this pronouncement, and even Sirrin seemed startled. Before she could stop herself, Lothiriel asked, “Is that common in your land?” She could not even begin to imagine riding to war!

Eowyn looked uneasy and dropped her gaze, but again Faramir stepped in. “Only common for the very bravest of shieldmaidens. It was Lady Eowyn who defeated the Witch-king!” he told them proudly, causing Eowyn’s blush to deepen.

“Well,” Sirrin said, recovering her composure, “that must be quite a story to tell. But let us get to the city and settled first. I shall have you both to supper as soon as it may be arranged.” She paused, then looked meaningfully at Faramir, asking, “Has the city recovered sufficiently for us to be here, and for the festivities that are planned?”

He sighed and shrugged. “As best as we can. It will not be anything like Minas Tirith’s greatest days, of course, but there is so much joy over our victory and the return of the king that, hopefully, no one will take much notice of what we are lacking.”

Elphir joined them then, and further introductions were made. “Alcathir did not come? And Alphros?” Faramir inquired, glancing toward the boat.

Elphir explained about his wife’s illness with the child she carried, causing her to remain behind. “I will leave after the coronation to return to them.”

As all seemed ready, they prepared to depart for the city. Faramir had already secured a carriage for them and a wagon to carry their baggage, bringing a horse for Elphir. He joined the ladies in the carriage, and it was evident he did so in order not to leave Eowyn alone with strangers. Despite everything, Lothiriel rather thought she liked this woman. Her manners were brisk and honest, true, but Lothiriel appreciated her openness, something too often lacking in Gondorian nobility. 

Still, Faramir’s cursory tale of how Eowyn came to be in Gondor was astonishing. In one sense, Lothiriel could understand why she had acted so – that the woman had not wished to be parted from her brother and uncle if the world was truly ending – but the very notion of a lady going into battle was beyond her comprehension. 

She had rather hoped there would be some mention of Eowyn’s brother, the king, so that she might learn more about what would confront her soon. However, little was said of him, and she did not want to draw undue attention by asking questions. Neither her mother nor cousin would miss the significance of her curiosity. For the time being, she would have to just wait and see.

xx

Faramir had not exaggerated, and supplies were somewhat wanting. Still, it was clear that Minas Tirith was excited about the returning king and were doing all they could to scrub their city to a suitable appearance. Faramir told them that the host was due to arrive at the end of April and then the King would be crowned on the first of May. He had been working long hours to make sure all was prepared, and his weariness was evident, but it was also clear that the joy of his love for Eowyn distracted him from any complaints of the body which he suffered.

It was good to see him thus. The past few years in particular, he and his father had not been on the best of terms. It was never fully clear why that was, though for Lothiriel’s part she suspected the blame lay with Denethor. Her uncle had doted on Boromir, being excessively proud of his heir – rightly so, as Boromir was admirable in many ways. But Faramir was equally admirable despite his differing temperament. To Boromir’s credit, he had never looked down upon his younger brother and there was great affection between them. Lothiriel suspected Lady Eowyn was also helping Faramir to cope with his grief over Boromir’s demise.

The few days leading up to the arrival of the host were both exciting and worrisome, at least to Lothiriel. She was greatly looking forward to seeing her father and brothers once more, but with them would come two or more kings. That thought made her want to take the next boat back to Dol Amroth with all speed. Not that she truly believed that would save her. Perhaps if she were the only one to know of the prophecy, she might be safe, but her parents would surely be eager to introduce her to any and all kings in hopes of helping it come to pass! She wondered if she was the only one not to take it as a foregone conclusion.

In truth, her family members were more sympathetic to her situation than she realized. All had noticed her enthusiasm about Mithrandir’s prediction had waned over time, and they could readily understand why that was so. Still, she was the highest ranking unmarried noblewoman in all of Gondor, and marriage to a king would be quite appropriate. They fully intended to do all they could to help nature take its course, and _allow_ Lothiriel to discover her future rather than feel forced into it.

The three from Dol Amroth set immediately to work aiding Faramir in any way they could to finish preparations. Elphir stepped in and helped Faramir sort out arrangements and protocols for the coronation and celebrations. Because it had been so long since Gondor was ruled by a king, they had to wade through numerous books to find the proper ceremonies and such that needed to occur to effect the handing over of Minas Tirith, and all of Gondor, to the King from the Steward.

Sirrin took over putting the King’s house in order, with Lothiriel working beside her. The busyness of it helped keep Lothiriel’s thoughts from dwelling too much on her situation, but even so, finding herself in the King’s house, she could not avoid looking around and wondering what it would be like to have charge of the household on a daily basis. The very idea was completely overwhelming to her.

Rather hesitantly, Eowyn had offered to assist them also. While Gondor was a far different sort of royal court than that of Edoras, the basics were very similar, and Eowyn was tired of inactivity. She had been spending some time learning herblore in the Houses, but thought perhaps it wise to become better acquainted with Faramir’s relatives, and to learn all she could of Gondorian society.

As the two women were close in age, Sirrin often put Lothiriel and Eowyn to work together. She was not without ulterior motive, for she hoped Lothiriel would learn much of Faramir’s lady. For Lothiriel’s part, she thought probably she could ask questions in private with Eowyn that might have drawn too much notice in the company of her family.

Her initial opinion of Eowyn remained unchanged as they came to know one another. Though there were things in her personality that were completely foreign to Lothiriel’s way of thinking, she very much liked the straightforwardness of the Rohirrim. Eowyn had made it evident at the outset that her people were honest and plain-spoken, and that was clearly so. But it also meant that Eowyn concealed very little, both good and ill. As a result, Lothiriel thought she likely was getting a much truer representation of Rohan’s king than she might from anyone else.

Eowyn did not hesitate to speak of her brother’s fine points, but neither did she balk at revealing his weaknesses and shortcomings. As Lothiriel listened, it rather struck her that she could almost like this man. At least it seemed possible. He was not so very much older than she, as were the other prospects, and seemed to have a pleasing personality in addition to being handsome. On that last score, Lothiriel might have thought Eowyn exaggerated had not the king’s sister been so lovely, and she had overheard girls who had seen the king giggling over his handsomeness. It was very apparent that if she did not wish an alliance with the man, there were many who would gladly take her place.

Still, it was not that simple, as she well knew. And, for that matter, she could not even be sure that Mithrandir had meant Eomer. Perhaps she was destined to marry a different king. The Istar had said nothing about her having her pick of those available. She scowled in frustration – _oooh, that wizard! Why did he have to go and ruin everything?_

At length, the days of waiting were ended. The host had slowly filled the Pelennor at the end of April, oozing over the landscape like spilled water. Lothiriel had rather hoped her father and brothers would enter the city without waiting for the formal entrance the next day, but they remained with the king at the encampment, and she was forced to wait another day to see her family once more. Sirrin, too, seemed edgy and desirous for tomorrow to come quickly, and Lothiriel stayed near her mother to try and soothe her as best she could.

*****

In all, the formal welcoming and crowning of the king took very little time, really. Truly he was an impressive man, as all had told her, and quite handsome as well, but there was still the matter of his age. Faramir had confirmed that he was nearer her father’s age, and said the archives indicated Arathorn’s son was likely born some eighty-seven years before. Though he hardly seemed of that great age, he was after all a Dunedain, blessed with long life. And that was another thing – while he might be young, comparatively, even with her Numenorean blood she would die long before he did. Likely she would look like his _mother_ before her death, rather than his wife! _No thank you!_

The King of Rohan proved to be just as attractive as she had expected from Eowyn’s comments, but she steeled herself against it. She must keep a goodly distance between them or her family would be making the match in very short order. Luckily, with all the crowd and confusion at the gate, when Faramir handed over rule of the City, then was given back the Stewardship to retain always and Elessar was crowned, Lothiriel was not brought face to face with either king.

As her eyes drifted over their companions, which included her father looking hale and hearty, she noted an Elf, a Dwarf and four Hobbits. Her father had mentioned a little in his letters about the Nine Walkers, and once they had arrived at Minas Tirith, others filled in more details. These surely must be what was left of that fellowship, Mithrandir and her poor departed cousin, Boromir, filling out the company.

Her brow wrinkled at a new thought. She had considered the possibility that there might be Elven kings, but what of Hobbits and Dwarves. _Surely…_ She could not quite stifle her dismay at that possible prospect – that she was destined to marry into such. Not that she had anything against these other races. In all, it was rather astounding to find that they even truly existed in some cases, but based on this one Dwarf, she would find it hard to be attracted to such, and the Hobbits were too much like children to her eyes. _Ai!_

For one brief moment, it seemed Mithrandir glimpsed her in the crowd, and gave that annoyingly knowing smile of his. She supposed she could confront the Istar, and try to press him for details, but the slight look of mischief in his eyes dissuaded her. He had ever spoken in riddles, and she had little doubt he would do so now. She did not anticipate receiving any help from _him_!

Once the proper protocols had been met, the king’s party began to wind their way up through the streets to the Citadel. There was no question of getting near to them in this crowd, that pressed close eager for a better look. Her mother was holding onto Elphir’s arm and he offered his other to her so they could pick their way home. It took almost an hour to reach the Sixth Level, and they decided it might be best to wait at home than continue trying to deal with the crowd. Imrahil and his sons would come to greet them as soon as they could do so.

And what a joyous reunion it was. Amrothos and Erchirion were completely recovered from their injuries, with only small scars to show for it. Imrahil and Sirrin seemed content merely to hold one another in silence, and despite the boisterous gathering, their children gave them distance for as long as they wished. Excitedly the two soldiers told of all that had been happening since they departed Dol Amroth so many months before, and then their siblings filled them in on doings in the South and at Minas Tirith since their arrival there.

It was a happy and grateful family that sat down to their noon meal, pleased that they all had managed to return to sup together once more. There were several moments of silence as they all smilingly looked around the table at each other, until finally Imrahil began to serve himself, signaling the others to dig in also.

The family stayed close the remainder of the afternoon, talking and laughing with each other and becoming reacquainted after their separation. A feast was scheduled for that evening and at the appropriate time they went their separate ways to dress and prepare. 

Lothiriel’s nerves were back with a vengeance, but she wrestled them into submission. It would take some doing, but the crowd would play in her favor. With a little luck, she could escape the notice of any and all kings, or eventual kings, who might be in attendance!

_TBC_

3002: Elphir – 15, Erchirion – 12, Amrothos – 8, Lothiriel – 3 ; Boromir – 24, Faramir – 19

Brythred – (“wisdom giver”)  
Dreng – (“youth”)  
Alcathir – (“shining face”) – wife of Elphir  
Sirrin – (“river queen”)


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Not for the first time, Eomer watched the woman slipping along the edges of the hall. He had glimpsed her at supper, sitting beside Amrothos, though he did not know her name or what connection she might have with his friend. Clearly they were well acquainted, for they had laughed and talked through the entire meal, and he had seen them dancing together several times afterwards. 

He wasn’t quite sure why it was that he had initially taken such notice of her, though her beauty certainly drew the eye. Still, he had seen beauty before and not been overly swayed by it. Perhaps, then, it was his curiosity. He was a soldier, and he knew evasive tactics when he saw them. She was obviously avoiding something…or someone. No amount of study on his part, however, could determine what precisely she was attempting to elude.

He had just taken a swallow of wine and was considering asking someone about her when Eowyn approached. This was not the sister he had thought he left behind in Rohan, or who had looked at him with lifeless eyes in the Houses after nearly dying on the field of battle. Eowyn’s eyes now shone with joy, and she caught his hand, distracting him from the woman skirting the room.

“Eomer! Come! There is someone I wish you to meet!” she told him, a note of breathless excitement in her voice.

He finished the wine in two swallows and set down the goblet. Well, whatever had effected this change in Eowyn, he would not complain. He had despaired of ever seeing her happy again. To return to Minas Tirith and find her healthy both in body and spirit had been gratifying. He let her lead the way, and it soon became apparent they were making their way toward the Steward of Gondor. He had seen the man first at the Gate today, and Erchirion had mentioned something while they were at the Field of Cormallen about the Steward being a cousin. This day had been so chaotic, particularly with all the celebrating and reunions, that although Eomer had been briefly introduced to Faramir, they had managed little more than a nod of acknowledgement before being swept apart to other greetings.

“My lord Faramir, I would have you meet my brother, Eomer, King of Rohan. Eomer, this is Faramir, Steward of Gondor.”

Eomer inclined his head to the man, unclear as to the reason for this particular introduction being so specifically made by his sister, but then Eowyn moved closer to the man. As she looked up at him, the truth became quite evident – Eowyn loved him! Immediately Eomer’s eyes flicked back to the Gondorian, but the Steward was not looking at him. Instead, his own eyes were riveted on Eowyn, and Eomer could clearly read the love there. The challenge he had been about to offer died on his tongue. He did not know how this had come to be, but this went well beyond the way that Eowyn had looked at Aragorn. Then, he suspected she had only truly admired a great warrior, who she thought could free her from her cage. This was more; this was real.

He let out an inaudible sigh. It could only mean one thing – that soon Eowyn would be gone from him, come to Gondor to be a wife. While he rejoiced for her, it brought a lonely ache to his heart at the thought of being alone at Edoras, all of his family lost to him in one fashion or another. Still, he would not deny her this moment. He forced a smile to his lips, asking teasingly, “Is there some particular reason you felt the need to drag me over to meet the Steward, Eowyn. We were introduced before, and I am sure we would have met again in due course.”

For an instant, he had caught her off her guard and she faltered. Then her eyes narrowed and he knew she had realized his teasing. “I thought you might wish to become _better acquainted_! I highly recommend it, as I expect the two of you will become closely associated in the future!” she retorted.

No, he couldn’t let her win that easily. Raising an eyebrow questioningly, he said, “Why would I have any special reason to associate with Gondor’s Steward? We may meet occasionally when I am in Mundburg to visit with Aragorn, but otherwise I doubt our paths will have much reason to cross.”

Something in Faramir’s countenance told him that the man had caught on to the siblings’ byplay, and that he was not fooled by Eomer’s pretended disinterest. “Perhaps your sister feels you will wish to be acquainted with me, as I will likely be King Elessar’s liaison with Rohan going forward. I am apt to be in your company more often than you presently expect.”

Eomer suppressed a chuckle. The man was good! Nodding slightly, he shrugged. “I suppose it is possible. Very well. I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I do hope you are not one of those soft noblemen that I so despise.”

A low growl erupted from Eowyn. “Eomer!” Before she could chastize him, though, he grinned, and Faramir followed suit. Once again, Eowyn faltered, but Eomer didn’t give her a chance to speak.

“And what would be the true reason for this meeting, if I may ask?” No point in beating around the bush; he was a straightforward man.

“It is very simple, really,” Faramir answered with total aplomb. “I am deeply in love with your sister and wish to request her hand in marriage. As she has indicated a similar disposition in the matter, I believe this introduction is Eowyn’s attempt to begin the process.”

Honest and plain-spoken, if a bit presumptuous. But better that the man make clear his intentions than attempt to disguise them, whilst seeking Eomer’s good favor.

Eomer eyed his sister, throwing in a look of disbelief for good measure. “You wish to marry a _Gondorian_ , Eowyn? Ai! Our parents would turn over in their graves!”

Eowyn’s expression began making a rapid transit through various emotions, ranging from shock to anger to frustration. Deciding he had tormented her long enough, Eomer grinned and pulled her into his embrace, despite her stiff resistance. “I, however,” he whispered in her ear, “am very happy for you. If you are sure about this, then you have my blessing.”

She melted into his arms, holding him tightly for several minutes before looking up to meet his gaze. “Truly?”

“Absolutely!” he reiterated. “I never dared hope to see you so happy. I would not do anything to spoil it for you.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and they embraced again. It would be hard without her, but he could not be so selfish as to deny her this.

After that, most of the remainder of the evening was spent doing as Eowyn desired – getting better acquainted with Faramir. Thus, Eomer had no further chance to ponder on the girl he had seen earlier.

The next day, however, he spotted her again, and whatever she had been seeking to avoid the previous night apparently continued to plague her. He had glimpsed her scurrying from place to place, clearly attempting to stay out of sight. She slipped along in shadows or ducked behind bushes at every opportunity. 

Usually he saw her in the company of Imrahil’s family, and he had asked a servant about the Dol Amroth group. She had indicated there was a daughter, so he assumed the girl must be her. More than once he had seen members of her family looking around, and he very much suspected they were wondering where she kept disappearing to. It took a while of his surreptitious observations before he realized that she seemed to make herself scarce whenever the family came to greet Aragorn or him.

Was the girl incredibly shy? That would seem very unlikely for Imrahil’s daughter, besides which her behavior as witnessed from a distance did not seem to be that of shyness. Near as he could tell, she was consciously avoiding being in his or Aragorn’s company. The only question was why, though he wasn’t sure it was diplomatic to ask her family about it.

As luck would have it, two days later, Erchirion had invited him to ride down to the Harlond to see Elphir off, and he thought he might be able to nonchalantly bring up the subject of a sister and possibly get some answers. Their conversation on the ride was trivial, and not until Elphir’s boat had sailed and Erchirion was showing Eomer around the docks did the king express his curiosity.

“Do you not have a sister?” Eomer presently asked. “I thought I understood it was so, but I have not met her.”

Erchirion gave a snicker, answering, “Perhaps she does not find your charm, and your kingship, so irresistible as do other Gondorian ladies!”

Eomer cast a glare of reproach at him for the remark. He could not deny that Gondorian ladies did seem to excessively fawn over him, much to his disgust, but he had not thought his friend would make such a comment. “I do not expect her to find me irresistible, but I would expect to have been introduced, just as with any other member of your family! I almost get the impression that she is avoiding me.”

At his words, Erchirion’s expression sobered and he nodded. “Yes, that is understandable.” For several moments they walked in silence before he ventured to explain, “It is not that she _avoids_ you – well, perhaps she does…how to explain this. She is afraid of you, Eomer.”

Before he could say more, Eomer asked incredulously, “Afraid of _me_! Why would she fear someone she has never even met? What have I done to frighten her!”

“Nothing!” Erchirion soothed, raising a hand. “You have done nothing, but please let me explain and then possibly it will make more sense.” He rubbed the back of his neck, then began. “When Lothiriel was very young, Mithrandir was introduced to her. The only words he spoke were to prophesy that she would one day marry a king. He did not explain further, or give any indication of who this king might be. Lothiriel has grown up in the shadow of that prediction. As a girl, it seemed an exciting prospect, but the woman she has become sees more clearly, and better understands the implications of it.”

He gestured to a bench on the docks, and the two men seated themselves before he went on. “For a long time, it almost appeared as though the prophecy could never be fulfilled, as Gondor had no king and our ties to other lands were so weak as to seem to preclude it. But now, she finds herself confronted with more than one king, and she fears…she fears being forced into a loveless marriage all for the sake of ‘destiny’.”

Eomer eyed him with disbelief. “Why would she think I would wish to marry some stranger, without love? Does she not think a king might desire affection in his marriage also? I am not bound under the dictates of one of Gandalf’s whims!”

The Dol Amrothian looked uncomfortable for a moment, then reluctantly told him, “In your land it may not be so, but in Gondor it is not unusual for there to be arranged marriages of advantage, particularly among the highest nobility. Lothiriel fears that you may choose her for her status and the strong ties of alliance such a marriage would create, and that Father would accept, both for that reason and the further weight of the prophecy. She fears not being given a choice in the matter.” He paused, then added ruefully, “If it is any consolation, she avoids Elessar also, and for the same reason!”

Eomer rolled his eyes. “How comforting! If she is that silly, then I do not think I care to meet her anyway!” This was utterly ridiculous and, yet, there was something about the girl that intrigued him. Maybe he just wanted to prove her wrong; maybe he just didn’t like the idea of someone avoiding him for such a ludicrous reason. 

Erchirion stood and gestured toward their horses, saying apologetically, “We should get back. I am sorry if I have upset you. I know this does not seem rational to you, Eomer, but…it is what it is. She even avoids Mithrandir for fear he will make more predictions about her! Lothiriel cannot help what she feels, or fears.”

Privately, Eomer thought she _could_ ‘help it’ if she truly wished to, but he did not voice his opinion. Ah well, they would be leaving soon and he would be relieved of the matter.

Even so, he found he continued to observe Lothiriel’s efforts. Clearly, she did not think anyone noticed her behavior, and he wondered if he was really the only one who did. He was rather amused when he saw that Imrahil had cornered her at one gathering, and this time there would be no escape. The Prince was definitely marching her over to meet her new King! Eomer was half tempted to join them and force the girl to meet him as well, but decided that would be unnecessarily cruel. He satisfied himself with watching from the side as the introduction took place.

Lothiriel had resisted her father as much as she thought she could, but in the end he had been insistent that it would be unforgivably rude for her not to meet and acknowledge the king. Imrahil well understood what she was feeling, at least he believed he did, but there were some things that the nobility could not avoid and this was one such circumstance.

As they approached, Aragorn looked up and his piercing gray eyes glanced over Imrahil’s daughter. He had thought it strange that they were not previously introduced, and he had heard no clear reason for it, but he was willing to assume it was merely too much confusion amid all the celebrations.

The girl was lovely, just like her mother, though he suspected she was not yet comfortable with her beauty. There was a hesitancy in the way she moved and wore her clothes. And there was something else in her eyes…why did she seem almost fearful of meeting him? He had noticed her previously and seen no lack of social grace, and he could not think himself so grand as to frighten her. The determined look on her father’s face made him think perhaps there was something going on of which he was not aware. Well, whatever it was, he would be himself. Perhaps that would ease the situation. 

Lothiriel could not quell the rising trepidation in her chest as she drew nearer to the king. Even without Mithrandir’s prophecy, he was a rather intimidating man to look upon, though there was a kindness in his eyes that she hadn’t expected. As they came closer, she gave a stiff, awkward curtsy, made somewhat clumsy by her nerves.

“King Elessar, may I present my daughter, Lothiriel. Lothiriel, our new king, Elessar,” Imrahil said.

She had noticed that his eyes had looked on all to whom he was introduced with great warmth, making it difficult for her to ascertain if his gaze singled her out in any way. “It is a very great honor to meet you, your majesty,” she said hoarsely, struggling to get the words out.

A grin tweaked his mouth and he answered, “An honor, perhaps, but the pleasure is all mine. It is always welcome to make the acquaintance of beautiful women, particularly if they are daughters of dear friends!”

She almost choked at his words. _Could there be a hidden meaning, an indication of attraction to her?_ He was pleasant and charming and all that a king should be…and she very much did not want to marry him!

“Thank you, my lord. You are too kind,” she murmured, lowering her eyes.

Fortunately, at that moment, the Dwarf loudly approached. “Aragorn – or Elessar, or whatever name you’re going by – come and have a drink with us, lad!”

The king let out a laugh, a full smile creasing his face. “I should leave the company of a charming woman to drink with you, Gimli? Do you take me for a fool?”

The Dwarf guffawed loudly at the remark and eyed her curiously. “And who might this lovely creature be anyway? Am I not to be introduced to your prettiest guests also?” Gimli queried.

Behind him, an Elf had appeared. “Had Aragorn thought you could be taken from the ale barrels before this, I am sure he would have made introductions!”

It was clear these three were the best of friends, but that did not ease Lothiriel’s discomfiture at her part in the conversation. Matters were not improved when the king gestured to each in turn as he told her, “I am remiss. Lady Lothiriel, daughter of Imrahil, may I introduce my companions, Legolas, son of Thranduil, king of Mirkwood, and Gimli, son of Gloin.”

She attempted a curtsy that proved marginally better than her one to the king. At least there was no mention of Gimli being royalty, so she could cross him off the list, but here was yet another prospective king. That put her tally at four! She had overheard her father saying Dale’s king had sent an ambassador to the coronation. Still, that he hadn’t come in person meant there were fewer to dodge.

She was just wondering how she might graciously slip from this company when fortune at last smiled on her. Faramir joined them then, striking up a conversation that diverted attention from her, and after a few minutes she was able to excuse herself. Her father had remained to talk with the others, and she hastened for the side of the hall after securing a goblet of wine. She sipped it agitatedly, hoping it would calm her beating heart. At least now that she had met all of them, perhaps it would be easier to avoid them. Well, she hadn’t actually met King Eomer, but he would be leaving soon. With any luck, she could elude him until then.

“I believe this is yours, my lady,” a warm, low voice said from the shadows to her left, and she nearly dropped her wine goblet, choking slightly on the liquid as it went down the wrong way.

“Forgive me,” the voice added as she turned to see who was there, coughing a bit. “I did not intend to startle you.” Not exactly the truth, Eomer admitted to himself as her eyes went wide at the sight of who had joined her. Clearly she knew who he was even without an introduction.

He held out his hand with the handkerchief that had fluttered unnoticed to the ground as she hurried away from the king. Reluctantly, she reached for it, blushing and murmuring, “Thank you, my lord.”

“My pleasure,” he answered, with wry amusement. Then, just to be difficult since he couldn’t resist, added, “I do not believe we have met. I am King Eomer of Rohan.” Normally he didn’t make a practice of using his title when introducing himself, but in this case he made a pointed exception!

“An honor, sir,” she said, curtsying shakily, and annoyed with her discomposure. “I am Lady Lothiriel, daughter of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth.” Perhaps if she stayed stiffly formal it would drive him away all the sooner.

“A very great pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he remarked. “I had heard Imrahil had a daughter and was hoping to meet her. It seems odd that we have not previously been introduced.” He raised an eyebrow of apparent surprise.

She bit her lip, replying only, “Yes, very odd.” Her mind raced, trying to think of a reason to excuse herself without being rude. Well, when all else failed, there was always the sudden headache…

“If you would be so kind as to excuse me, my lord. My head is fit for cracking and I should very much like to retire for the evening.”

Eomer could be just as quick on his feet. “I am very sorry to hear that. Here, let me alert your father and then I will see you safely home. It would be a shame to draw him from the celebration.”

Her look of dismay almost caused him to burst out laughing, but it also made him feel guilty for torturing her so. Thus, he did not object further when she told him, “Oh, no, my lord, I would not trouble you! One of my brothers will surely be happy to assist me!”

Taking pity on her, he nodded and then, from his greater height, scanned the room until he spotted Amrothos and signaled him over. “Your sister has need of your assistance, my friend. Lady Lothiriel, I take my leave of you. Again, it has been most pleasant meeting you. I hope you are soon recovered.” He offered a slight bow and moved away, unavoidably hearing Amrothos querying his sister as to the problem.

He should not have done that to her, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself. Besides, like it or not, she could not simply avoid every king in Middle-earth for the rest of her days until they were all safely married, and she was too old and unattractive to be a desirable choice! She needed to face this head on, no matter how unpleasant. A person could not hide from the vagaries of life, regardless of how much they might wish to do so.

***** (6 May, 3019 III)

“Eomer!”

He looked up to see Erchirion hailing him across the Citadel courtyard, and turned to meet the other man. He had been leaning on the wall, gazing over the Pelennor. It was much changed from when they fought that horrific battle. It was good to see green grass beginning to cover the scars of the land, though it would thrive more once the Rohirrim had departed and it was not buried under an encampment.

“Yes, my friend?” he asked.

Erchirion’s expression was sober and the king eyed him curiously. “Do not misunderstand, Eomer. I do not mean to take you to task…well, not much, anyway, but…” He paused, considering his words.

“Whatever you have to say to me, just say it. We are friends and reasonable men,” Eomer said quietly.

With a sigh, Erchirion squared his shoulders and nodded. “I would ask that you not torment Lothiriel further. I…witnessed your encounter with her last night. I realize you do not fully understand the situation, or why it affects her so, but it does. Please try to be considerate of her feelings. She is not attempting to slight you with her behavior. I only told you of it so you would not be offended.”

Eomer drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, turning away to again gaze over the Pelennor. “You are right, and I apologize. I did not mean to torment her, but when I saw your father insistently introduce her to Aragorn, I thought it might settle things if she could get all the meetings with kings out of the way at once. I should not have done it. I am sorry. Please forgive me. I…would say the same to your sister, but I think perhaps she would prefer I not come near!”

Erchirion chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder, “Too true! And thank you. Perhaps you are right and now that she has met both you and Elessar it will not bother her so much. We shall see. At any rate, you are leaving us soon anyway. The day after tomorrow?”

Eomer nodded. “Yes. It is time I get home and begin to set the Riddermark in order. There is much to do before winter is upon us. And I must prepare for bringing Theoden home to be laid to rest alongside his ancestors.”

“If Rohan needs help from Gondor, do not hesitate to make it known, my friend,” Erchirion encouraged. “We would not still be here were it not for the Rohirrim. It is the least we can do to show our gratitude. Let us know when you will return for Theoden-King and I am sure Father and Amrothos, at the very least, will want to also come with me to Rohan to honor your uncle.”

A slight incline of his head was Eomer’s only response, not trusting his voice for the moment. Without question, he had made some very good friends through all this unpleasantness.

_TBC_

3002: Elphir – 15, Erchirion – 12, Amrothos – 8, Lothiriel – 3 ; Boromir – 24, Faramir – 19

Brythred – (“wisdom giver”)  
Dreng – (“youth”)  
Alcathir – (“shining face”) – wife of Elphir  
Sirrin – (“river queen”)


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Because Elessar had much need of counsel from Imrahil, Lothiriel and her mother remained in the White City long after Elphir returned home. Lothiriel had hoped to make her escape and go with him, but both her parents had insisted that she stay. Even so, she continued to avoid the king whenever possible. She could not deny he was always charming and polite whenever they encountered one another, and in truth she felt as though she greatly admired him, even liked him. Still, marriage was an altogether different matter. For his part, she never got the impression he was looking at her with that sort of interest, but one could never be sure about such things. Theirs would be a most appropriate marital alliance, and the king did need an heir. He might seek to wed her for more practical considerations than love.

As the days passed into mid-June, it almost seemed as though the king was waiting for something. Much had been done to clean the scars from the city but, more than that, Lothiriel had heard of great activity within the king’s house as well. Having assisted in preparing it for his return, she could not imagine that very much needed doing to it, yet the activity proceeded. Chambers were being opened and aired, though no guests had been mentioned. She was not the only one to wonder at this curious turn of events.

Then, on the day before Midsummer, Imrahil told them at dinner that a messenger had come from Amon Din, saying that a riding of Elves was approaching out of the North. Immediately, Elessar had increased the pace of preparations throughout the city – apparently this was what or who he had been anticipating.

On a glorious day, the very eve of Midsummer, the Elves came to the city, with banners heralding both Rivendell and Lothlorien. Bringing up the rear was a male Elf, riding alongside one of the most beautiful creatures anyone had ever seen. Lothiriel had joined Faramir to watch their arrival, and with him were some of his Hobbit friends, Merry and Pippin. “That’s Lord Elrond,” Pippin explained, “and his daughter, Arwen. We met them at Rivendell. I didn’t know they would be coming here. I thought all the Elves were sailing away.”

As they watched, the King welcomed his guests, and Lord Elrond surrendered a sceptre to Elessar, before laying the hand of his daughter in the hand of the king. Lothiriel’s heart jolted with astonishment – could this be what it seemed? 

It was – the very next day, the king wed the beautiful Arwen. All the previous day and this morning whispers and rumors had been racing around, and Lothiriel had strained for every tidbit of information she could get, even though her father had already confirmed the wedding would take place.

For several days after the marriage, Lothiriel was not entirely sure how she felt about it. To be sure, there was much relief that she no longer had to avoid the king or fear that he was the fulfillment of the prophecy, and yet it did narrow the field of prospects also. Though peace had been made with Harad and the Easterlings, she did not seriously think either of them likely, which still left three known possibilities: Rohan, Dale and Mirkwood.

It was difficult to consider Dale, never having even met their king. For all she knew, he was already married. If that was so, did he have an heir of a reasonable age? As for Legolas, he had demonstrated no particular interest in her, seeming more directed toward replanting the city and then bringing Ithilien back to its former glory as a garden spot of Gondor.

The third prospect, Eomer of Rohan, was…confusing. Admittedly there was much to recommend him. He was not a great deal older than she was, a handsome man and seemed well liked by one and all. She had managed to only encounter him on that one occasion, so she had not truly gotten a sense of who he was or what he was like, but he had seemed amiable enough, and was certainly considerate of her.

Oh, it was all so frustrating, and confusing, and annoying! Others found love and marriage partners with sufficient ease – why did it have to be so much more complicated in her case? If Mithrandir had just kept his predictions to himself!

Lothiriel’s relief over Elessar’s marriage was short-lived. In early July, her father indicated that Rohan would be returning to take Theoden’s body home for burial, and their family would be accompanying the funeral cortege. Further, the Elf Legolas would also be in their company, so she was back to her evasive tactics, but this time in unknown territory. It would be harder to hide from Eomer in his own home, but hopefully he would be too preoccupied with the funeral to take notice of her.

A sennight later, the Rohirrim arrived. There was a feast that night, but the size of it and large number of notable guests provided Lothiriel with distance and an excuse for maintaining it. Under the circumstances, her father did not press her to greet King Eomer, though her glimpses of the man made her think his mind was distracted by the reason for his presence in their city, and not inclined toward courting women. In that respect, she was almost tempted to approach him and offer her condolences on his loss. She could not even imagine losing her father, and from what her brothers said, King Theoden had been like a father to Eomer after his own was killed. She fought the inclination, but still her heart went out to him in sympathy.

Four days later, they began the journey. Travel in July was hot and dusty – in a word, miserable. Lothiriel couldn’t decide if the carriage provided welcome protection and shade from the sun, or whether it was more stifling than riding would have been. Either way, she was not up to riding for such a long way so she had little option in the matter. She and Sirrin did the best they could to stay comfortable in the sticky environs, grateful for the cooler evenings that came, at least once they had traveled some distance to the north.

After more than a week, Lothiriel was bone weary. Sleeping in bedding on the ground, and bumping along in a carriage all day, had left her sore and tired, and more than a little cranky. This particular evening, she thought perhaps a stroll about the camp in the cool evening air might facilitate her slumber, and the freedom of stretching her legs was welcome. She had felt caged after so much time in a carriage compartment.

It was interesting to note how different the stars overhead appeared in this northern country. With her brothers being avid sailors, she had spent much time on the water, and they had been insistent that she learn to read the skies for navigation and weather. She hadn’t truly minded that, since she enjoyed observing the stars and remembering the various tales and legends about them, though her brothers were more attuned to their practical use.

“You should not wander far from camp alone,” a quiet voice said, causing her to jump and wheel sharply. “I am sorry – I did not mean to startle you.”

This conversation was unnervingly familiar – similar to the one when they first met. “It is all right, my lord. I did not hear you approach,” she replied, wondering how such a large man could move so silently. She supposed it must have something to do with his being a soldier. And, for that matter, why was he out here anyway – had he followed her?

As if in answer to her unspoken query, he gestured to a sentry not far from them. “I was speaking with one of the guards when I saw you walking alone, and thought I should make sure you knew to be cautious. The sentries are alert, but I would not wish you to meet some difficulty and be injured before they could get to you.”

“Is it that dangerous?” she asked, blinking in surprise. “I thought that Sauron was defeated.”

“Sauron was, but some of his followers are still about. It will take time before we have destroyed them all and fully removed the threat. At least now they are smaller groups, and I do not think they would dare attack such a large party, but it is best to remain cautious all the same.”

Her brow wrinkled at this information, realizing it made perfect sense and wondering why it had not occurred to her before this. “Then I thank you for your warning, and I will be more careful. I just wished to take a little exercise after so much confinement.”

For several moments, Eomer did not respond, making Lothiriel shift nervously. At length, though, he offered, “If you would like, I will walk with you. There should be no danger then.”

Lothiriel gulped; she should have anticipated this, but heat and weariness had dulled her thinking. Still, it would seem rude to refuse. “That is very kind of you, my lord. I did not intend to stay out much longer, but a few minutes more would be welcome.” That seemed an appropriate balance between polite acceptance and getting away from him as quickly as possible.

Eomer bit back a smile, suspecting her motive but did not comment on it. Offering his arm to her, he gestured to his right and they set off. For a time, she kept silent and he seemed content to do the same, but finally she felt that conversation was required.

“How much longer before we reach Edoras, my lord?”

“Nearly a week still. I am sorry it is taking so long, but with the wagons and carriages, we cannot move faster,” he explained.

Part of her longed to ask questions about his homeland, but as that might give him the wrong impression, she lapsed into silence instead. The walk was now not proving so relaxing as she had intended, being all too aware of the man strolling beside her, though he himself seemed perfectly at ease. They had not gone much farther before she abruptly told him, “I believe I will turn in for the night, my lord. I thank you for your courtesy in keeping me safe.”

She could not read his expression when she glanced up, even though the moonlight lit his face, but somehow she got a sense of dissatisfaction. Deciding it might be best not to stand here and ponder the cause of it, she gave a curtsy, released his arm and hurried as quickly to her tent as she thought she could get away with. 

Her parents had not returned from visiting with King Elessar, so she was spared having to explain where she had been – and in whose company. She stood a long time staring unseeingly across the tent, lost in idle thought. Then, blinking, she came to herself and began to don her nightclothes. It was unclear if Rohan’s king was merely being polite or attentive, but she would take no chances. In the future, she would keep a sharper eye to avoid him. _A stroll in the moonlight!_ Just what she did _not_ want with him!

Her efforts were successful, and she had no further encounters with Eomer on the journey north. Despite her being leery of the king, though, she was greatly fascinated with seeing this new land and how much it differed from her homeland. Faramir had shared their carriage for some of the trip, and regaled her with tales of Rohan’s history, both distant and recent. She could not help gazing at King Eomer in wonder when she learned of all the struggles they had endured, and all that he had personally lost in this war.

She almost felt guilty that none of her family, save Boromir whom she did not know all that well, had been lost. Yet, Eomer had lost virtually everyone except for his sister. And Eowyn would be coming to Gondor soon to be Faramir’s wife. How must that make him feel? Suddenly her own petty worries seemed to pale into insignificance. It was now more evident why her father and brothers held him in such high regard. The burden he carried would have crushed a lesser man.

Their arrival at Edoras only emphasized all that King Eomer was facing. Though the funeral guests were treated cordially, and their needs met as much as possible, it was clear that many shortages still were making life difficult here. She had thought the few deprivations she suffered in Minas Tirith to be extreme, but now she saw they were nothing to Rohan’s loss. And, yet, the people held their heads up with pride. They had been battered and bruised, but not broken by Saruman. It was not difficult to admire them for their courage and strength.

There was much in the Riddermark that differed from Gondor, not the least of which was the funeral for King Theoden. Lothiriel rather thought she approved of their version of mourning, which in many ways was more a celebration of life. The loss of a dear one was never easy, but long faces and copious tears did not make it more bearable. Somehow she thought fond remembrances and recounting of the successes the person had known was a much better way to honor them.

A few days after the funeral, King Elessar, the other members of the Fellowship and the Elves made for Isengard. The same day, another party returned to Gondor, but Imrahil and his family had been invited to linger, and they had accepted. Faramir, too, was to remain and return with his kin from Dol Amroth.

Though Lothiriel felt sure they stayed because of the friendship between the king and her father, she was made nervous that there were far fewer guests to shield her from contact with Eomer. And without the distraction of the funeral, it was possible he might take more notice of her. Knowing that, she did all she could to spend as much time away from Meduseld as she could, wandering about the town for much of each day. Some days she even strolled out to the barrowfields, though the gate guards had warned her not to go far.

After several days, she persuaded Amrothos to take her on a picnic and do a little seeing of the sights around Edoras. When Amrothos proposed it at supper, Eomer had agreed, saying he would have the cook prepare food for them, and even sketched a map to places they might like to visit.

The past two days had been slightly overcast, but no rain had fallen, so no one was bothered when it was the same on the morning of their outing. At least it wasn’t likely to be so very hot as it had been on the trip from Gondor. Lothiriel was looking forward to time away from the Golden Hall and the tension of having to always be on the alert.

The day, however, was to prove far different than she anticipated. The cloud cover continued and even seemed to darken more through the course of the morning, and by the time they stopped for dinner, Amrothos was watching it with a worried eye.

“Thiri, I think we must head back soon. I do not like the look of that sky,” he told her.

“Oh no, please! It has looked like that for days and nothing came of it. Please may we ride a little longer? There are still several places on the map we have not seen yet,” she entreated.

If the house of Dol Amroth had a weakness, it was the youngest child. She had always been able to get her own way because none of them could say no to her, so against his better judgement, Amrothos capitulated. He was to regret that lapse in trusting his instincts.

xx

Gamling quietly opened the door to the King’s study without knocking, and his eyes scanned the room for Eomer. Spotting him seated by the fire, chatting comfortably with his friends from Dol Amroth, the Doorward reluctantly made his way in that direction. Eomer glanced up at his approach, raising a questioning eyebrow.

Bending near Eomer’s ear, he said softly, “The riding party is overdue, and the message Rider has just returned from Minas Tirith indicating he saw evidence of orcs in the direction they likely went. Possibly it is more than the storm that delays them.”

Eomer sucked in an annoyed breath. Just what he needed – an injury to Imrahil’s family or men. Still, he had approved their outing, thinking there was no harm in it, so he could hardly be reproachful about it now. Rising quickly, he instructed, “Have Eothain prepare an escort. I will leave at once.”

As Gamling hastened from the room, Imrahil and Erchirion eyed their friend curiously. “Is there a problem, Eomer? Might we be of assistance?” Imrahil offered.

The king struggled for a moment to find the words to break the news to them, but finally told them what Gamling had said, prompting the expected concern to overtake their expressions. “We will come with you!” Erchirion exclaimed, jumping to his feet.

Eomer raised a hand to stay him. “My men and I are better suited to contending with the weather and land of the Riddermark, and it might be wise for at least one of you to remain…with Sirrin.”

Immediate understanding flashed in their eyes, and Eomer continued, “Amrothos is already with her. I am sure he will take good care of his sister until help arrives, if it is even needed. It is possible they simply sought shelter out of the weather and there is no difficulty. I will go and make certain they are safe.”

The two were clearly torn, but at length Imrahil laid a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Mother will need us here with her. I am sure she will be frantic when she discovers what is happening. She may already be worried that they are out in the storm, and this news will not help. We will not mention where Eomer has gone or why; instead, we will attempt to reassure her that the storm has delayed their return and that they will be along directly. We must act as though all is well if we are to help her keep calm. Only if necessary will we reveal the possible danger.”

With a reluctant sigh, Erchirion capitulated to his father’s wishes. “Very well, Father.” Then, looking up at his friend, he said fervently, “Find her, Eomer! Find them!”

Eomer nodded and clamped a hand on his shoulder briefly before moving to the door. Eothain was waiting in the Hall, standing with Gamling, and Eomer was sure he had been apprised of the situation. Without conversation, his Captain fell in beside him as they threw on their cloaks and hurried to the stables.

Firefoot had already been saddled for him, and Eothain had gathered as much information as was available to them as to the riding party’s whereabouts. Six men accompanied them, and they rode out into the rain, setting off across the plains once they had cleared the gate.

The rain made tracking difficult, but Eomer had the men spread out so they were just in sight of one another as they combed for some sign to guide them. After nearly half an hour, a Rider gave a yell and signaled all to him. There was evidence of the picnic lunch that had been taken, and they set to scouring the area for indications of what direction they had followed from there.

“The storm likely broke after they ate,” Eothain remarked, “so unless they were tired, they might have continued their riding rather than turning for Edoras.”

Eomer nodded his agreement, even as his eyes resumed hunting for something to lead him to them. Eothain had just started to move away and pursue his own searching when he looked ahead and squinted through the rain. “Eomer! There – is that the party?” He pointed ahead and off to his right, just along the treeline. As they were moving in that direction, the objects they could see became more distinct and could finally be recognized as men and horses, though it was difficult to determine identity yet.

Eomer gave a sharp whistle, drawing the attention of his guard, and then urged Firefoot toward the other riders. As they drew nearer, it became clear that they had been spotted and recognized. Someone jumped on a horse and galloped frantically toward them, skidding in the mud when he pulled to a halt by Eomer.

“We must find her, Eomer! Hurry!” Amrothos exclaimed, worry etched on his sopping face.

He had started to turn back and join the others, but Eomer stopped him, “Wait! Tell us what has happened first.”

Clearly Amrothos was annoyed at the delay, even as he understood it was necessary. “A band of orcs. We were riding near the trees and they surprised us. There were fewer than a dozen of them, but we had our hands full, and when we had killed or driven off all of them, we discovered that Lothiriel was missing. One of the men remembered seeing her horse bolt, but he was unable to do anything about it, as were the rest of us. Then, with this rain and the confusion, we were not sure where to look for her and the tracks are a mess to sort.”

The king suspected that some of the dampness on Amrothos face was more than rain, though he did not say so. “Can you find your way to Edoras? We will fetch your sister home. I promise.”

Amrothos’ jaw tightened. “I cannot leave my sister, Eomer! You would not go if it was Eowyn!”

Eomer sighed, knowing the man was exhausted and possibly would suffer ill from the exposure, but he was also right. He could not insist Amrothos leave Lothiriel’s recovery to someone else. Turning, he called to his men, “Spread out – look for tracks of a single horse fleeing from here.”

Quietly, Eothain asked, “How long has she been gone?”

Amrothos wrinkled his brow in thought. “I cannot be sure. I think the attack must have been nearly an hour ago.” He pointed off to his right. “It happened over there, but we moved from that spot as we tried to find her tracks. And for all we know there may be more of them around.” He left unsaid the possibility that his sister had met up with orcs already.

_TBC_

3002: Elphir – 15, Erchirion – 12, Amrothos – 8, Lothiriel – 3 ; Boromir – 24, Faramir – 19

Brythred – (“wisdom giver”)   
Dreng – (“youth”)  
Alcathir – (“shining face”) – wife of Elphir  
Sirrin – (“river queen”)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The Rider that tells of orc activity near where the riding party is had seen it independently of them. He hadn’t seen the Dol Amroth group or known what was happening to them, and only when asked if he had seen them did they begin to realize the possibility that they had encountered trouble. The actual orc attack was happening about the time Eomer is leaving Edoras to go search for them._


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

It would have eased Amrothos’ mind slightly had he known that was not the case, but the reality was not a great deal better. Lothiriel had managed to maintain her seat when her horse bolted, but was unable to regain control of the animal. They seemed to run quite a while, and then they unexpectedly came to a downslope. Her horse tried to stop and hold his footing, but the rain had made that impossible. He skidded and scrambled, keeping to his feet until just the bottom, but then he could last no longer and fell. 

Luckily, Lothiriel was tossed clear, so he did not fall on her, but as he was uninjured, he bolted back to his feet and took off again, despite her calls to him. Bruised, muddy and terrified, she huddled momentarily, wallowing in her misery. But the thought of remaining there was untenable, and she began to consider her options. The way she had come was clearly somewhere on top of this hill down which they had plunged, but then so were those creatures that had attacked them. Were Amrothos and their escort safe? She refused to consider the possibility they had been killed, but that did not mean there weren’t more of those things between her and them, and she wasn’t inclined to find out. Her best chance seemed to be to find some sort of shelter and wait for her brother to find her. Surely he would come as soon as he could, or her father would once it was noticed they hadn’t returned to Meduseld.

She looked around through the still-driving rain, that hadn’t let up in the slightest. All she could see in the vicinity was rocks and plains, with just a bit of scrub brush here and there. A large cropping of rocks off to her left seemed her best hope of finding someplace to shelter, so she stiffly moved in that direction, pushing aside the inclination to think longingly of dry clothes and a warm fire.

It took several moments of looking before she found a space sufficiently large that she could squeeze into it, and be somewhat out of the rain and wind. It didn’t give her a view of the way she had come, however, so she would have to hope she heard them and could call out when help arrived. Mentally she apologized to her brother for not listening to his counsel at dinner. This was all her fault!

Having no experience with such things, Lothiriel could not judge the passage of time, but it seemed as though she had been huddled there for hours. Her bruised body was so stiff she could barely move to occasionally change position, and even those slight movements were painful. She supposed she should be glad that she had suffered no serious injury, but at present she was too miserable for gratitude.

The longer it seemed she waited, the more fearful she became – had they been killed or injured and were unable to come for her? Could they not find her? All this rain must surely have obscured the path she had taken… Had it been long enough for someone to go back to Meduseld for help? A worrisome thought suddenly intruded – would King Eomer come looking for her? She certainly hoped not. That was all she needed just now! Though, in a way, possibly this would give him such a poor opinion of her as to put him off any possible courtship. That might be a plus…

A shadow fell over her hiding spot, and she blinked out of her reverie to look up. A large, dark shape loomed over her, and irrational fear took her at once. She screamed, and continued screaming even as the thing caught hold of her and pulled her out from hiding. She didn’t know how to fight, but she’d do the best she could to the bitter end! Balling her hands into fists she punched and jabbed at the figure, continuing to scream.

To her astonishment, a hand roughly slapped her face and she fell into shocked silence. Only then did she hear the words the creature was speaking. “Calm down! You are safe!” She was given a hard shake, and she suddenly realized she had her eyes clamped shut. Warily she peeked them open, and then slammed them closed again in mortification. She had been striking the king of Rohan! Perfect!

Amrothos now stumbled up beside them. “What is wrong? What is wrong?” He frantically searched the area for the cause of her screams.

Repressing a grin, Eomer assured him, “Nothing is wrong. She is overwrought and did not realize who had found her. She was fighting me, until I slapped her and made her open her eyes to see.”

Amrothos breathed a shaky sigh of relief, pulling his sister into a hug. “I was so frightened! Are you all right, dearest?”

Numbly, she nodded, trying not to look at the king and hoping this would all soon be over.

“Where is your horse?” Eomer asked, forcing her to address him despite her efforts at avoiding it.

“He ran off. We fell coming down that hill, and then he took off so I hid,” she explained, feeling very foolish. She swayed slightly where she stood, and now that she was out in the rain and wind again, the chills were taking her over.

Eomer scowled and then abruptly scooped her up in his arms. “We need to get you to Meduseld at once, before you take a fever.” 

Quickly he wheeled and headed for his horse. Lothiriel was just too tired, wet and cold to care anymore, so she surrendered to the inevitable. Once they reached Firefoot, Eomer handed the girl to Eothain so he could mount. Just then, Amrothos stumbled over to join them. “Eomer, Lothiriel can ride with me.”

The king gave him a long appraising look and then clapped a hand on the back of Amrothos’ neck, leaning toward him. “My friend, you can barely stand on your own feet. Your sister is safe now; leave her to me. You just get yourself back.” He paused, then added with a chuckle, “I cannot carry the both of you!”

Propriety warred with reason, but at last Amrothos gave in to the sense of the matter and nodded. “Yes, you are right.” He started to turn away, then looked back and grinned gratefully, “Thank you!”

A moment later, Eomer stepped up into the saddle and Eothain handed the girl up. He settled her carefully in front of him, pulling his cloak forward to cover her also, and then gathered his reins as the others mounted. The Dol Amroth horses were weary, so Eomer made it a point not to press too hard going back, though he wanted to get everyone in out of the rain as soon as possible. Lothiriel had been shivering considerably when they found her, though her lips were less blue now that she was wrapped in his cloak as well as her own. Even so, he knew she was still cold and he could feel the tremors through her body. 

They had ridden in silence for some time when he faintly heard her murmur something, and he bent closer to catch her words. “What did you say?” he asked.

“S…sorry to be s…so much tr…trouble,” she stammered, her teeth clicking together with cold.

He smiled, touched by her words despite their being unnecessary. “You have no need to apologize,” he assured her. “On the contrary, you have managed far better than I expected you to. You should be proud of yourself for your fortitude in enduring this mishap.”

It did not register with her that he had paid her a compliment, and she lapsed back into shivering silence, snuggling closer against his warmth. Quite naturally, his arms tightened around her, and he was surprised by the rush of protectiveness he was suddenly experiencing. He supposed it had to do with never truly having had anyone depend on him like she did at this moment. Oh, he had been responsible for his men, and stood by them in any need, but that was different. And Eowyn had always had such an independent nature, that he wasn’t sure she had ever much needed him once she reached the age of eight or so. But right at this moment, this soft bundle in his arms was relying completely on him. It was a surprisingly good feeling knowing that.

He scowled to himself. That wretched prophecy! Without it, they might have met, become friends, shared company with one another and then…who knew where it might have led. But that would never happen now. Gandalf’s prediction had utterly persuaded her against him, fearful of being forced into something she might not wish. She apparently had never considered that possibly she _might_ wish it if she let herself do so.

He glanced down, noticing that weariness had overtaken her and she slept despite her shivers. On the other hand, perhaps it was possible to change her mind, and make her rethink all of this. A slight smile tweaked his mouth. He could be very persuasive when he was of a mind to be! He would make sure she came to know him, and put an end to these persistent efforts to elude contact with him. Whether she knew it or not, Lothiriel had best brace herself!

xx

As Eomer stepped through the doors, he glimpsed Imrahil and his family members gathered at the hearth in the middle of the hall. Upon sighting them, Sirrin’s eyes went wide with alarm and she hurried toward them, exclaiming, “Lothiriel!”

When she neared, he reassured her, “She is all right, my lady, though rather bruised and chilled.”

Not taking his word for it, Sirrin’s hands fluttered over her daughter, caressing her face, feeling her arms for injury, laying a hand on her forehead to check for fever. “We must get her warm!” Glancing at Eowyn, who had stepped near, she asked urgently, “May we have a hot bath readied?”

“Of course,” Eowyn answered, moving quickly away. “I will send hot food also,” she called back to them.

Gently Eomer set Lothiriel on her feet, maintaining a hold on her until he was sure she was steady. Immediately Sirrin wrapped an arm around her daughter’s shoulders and began to urge her toward the chambers. They had only gone a few steps, however, when a new thought came to her and she whirled. “Amrothos! Where is Amrothos?”

Now Imrahil joined them and told his wife consolingly, “See to Lothiriel, my love. I will attend to Amrothos.” 

For a moment, Sirrin hesitated, then nodded as she began to move on. Once she was gone, Eomer turned to look at Amrothos, standing largely hidden behind him, and the younger man gave him a rueful grin. “Thank you for shielding me from Mother’s concerns! She will have her hands full fussing over Lothiriel without having to divide her attention with me!”

The men chuckled, but Imrahil gestured for his son to follow him. “Come, get out of those wet clothes before you take a chill.”

Now that the furor had died down, Eomer glanced at Eothain. “Thank you, my friend. Get yourself home and dry.” With a nod, Eothain turned away and the king moved on to his own chambers to do the same.

Eomer sat tiredly on a chair to pull off his wet boots, but then paused and sat staring into the fire. Something had changed out there on the ride back. Until then, he had been mildly amused, and sometimes even a bit irritated by Lothiriel’s efforts to avoid him, but now… He liked her family a great deal, and he saw no reason that he would not also like her, given a chance to come to know her. Unless she could be persuaded to ignore Gandalf’s words, however, that wasn’t going to happen. He had promised Erchirion not to torment her, but he had not promised to avoid her altogether. Perhaps on closer acquaintance, they would never be more than friends, but he at least wanted the opportunity for that to happen without other considerations interfering. It was time to confront Lothiriel. If she wanted to reject him as a marital prospect, that was fine, but not simply because Gandalf had possibly predicted their alliance. Let her accept or reject _him_ , not some vague ramblings of a wizard that might well have nothing to do with him anyway.

Shaking himself from his reverie, he continued in his removal of wet clothes and got into dry garments. Just as he pulled on his shirt, a knock at the door signaled the arrival of a servant, bringing him supper and taking the wet clothing away to be cleaned and dried. It had been a long day. Once he had eaten, he decided to call it an early night. Time enough to deal with Lothiriel tomorrow.

xxxxx

Lothiriel awoke feeling slightly disoriented, though she wasn’t sure why. Rain still drummed on the roof and windows, and she listened idly to it for several moments as her thoughts drifted randomly. Suddenly she sat bolt upright in bed, groaning as her stiff, sore muscles protested the abrupt action. Eomer! He had rescued her yesterday…in the rain…she rode with him… Letting out another groan, this time one of dismay, she flopped back onto the pillows and covered her face with the blanket. Not only had she ridden with him, but she had snuggled into his embrace! Was there no avoiding this man? Was Mithrandir’s prediction so inevitable that she was simply wasting her time kicking against the pricks?

And how could she avoid him now, without seeming terribly rude after his incredible kindness. He had ventured out in the driving rain to search for her and bring her safely home. To ignore and dodge him would be unforgiveable.

She hadn’t _intended_ to feign illness. The thought had never crossed her mind, but when her mother came in a short time later and began fussing over her, and then seemed concerned that she ‘felt a little warm’, Lothiriel had just gone along with it. After all, it hadn’t appeared all that important. They would be returning home in a few days, anyway, and everyone apparently expected her to suffer some ill effects of her exposure to the elements. What was so very wrong with recovering her strength in bed for the next couple of days?

One thing she didn’t count on happening during her convalescing, though, was a visit from the king. He had loomed in her doorway the very next day, asking how she was feeling and staying to visit for a few moments with her and Sirrin. Lothiriel couldn’t say why, exactly, but she got the distinct impression he was not fooled, and did not truly believe she was taken ill. He never said anything to suggest it, nor did he look skeptically at her, but she was sure he was thinking it all the same. It made her feel guilty for the deception, and also that it somehow seemed ungrateful on her part. Deeming it imperative to compensate to some extent, she fervently told him, “I thank you again, my lord, for my safe return. I am sorry it was necessary for you to venture forth in such rough weather on my behalf.”

He eyed her coolly, his gaze unreadable, but he merely replied, “Not at all. None of us could have foreseen the turn your outing took. I am just pleased that there was not a more unfortunate outcome. Oh, and I almost forgot to tell you. We recovered the horse you were riding. Like you he was scraped and bruised, but otherwise sound.”

“I am glad,” she murmured. At least it had been one of their own horses, rather than one she had borrowed from his stables. Though, if it had been the latter, her poor riding skills might have been off-putting…

Eomer smiled inwardly. He was a man who knew when to pick his battles, and now was not the best moment. They would be returning home soon, and so there was not enough time to change Lothiriel’s thinking. Let her believe she had won, and go smugly home imagining herself safe! Soon enough she would realize her folly, or perhaps she would never notice… Either way, he had an admirable record of success in battle. Little did she know what was coming!

After a few moments of cordial conversation, Eomer withdrew to strategize his attack against her defenses. First order of business was to subtly learn all he could about her from her family, details he could turn to his advantage. With the recent mishap, and Lothiriel’s being taken ‘ill’, it was not difficult to steer her male family members into conversation regarding her, and they fondly related various tales about her to their friend. As he suspected, there was nothing they told him that led him to believe he would not have liked her all along, given the chance.

The only problem he could see was in how to make use of the information he gathered. Lothiriel loved the sea, enjoyed dancing, was an avid reader and gardener, and had an excellent mind for numbers. On the surface, none of it was terribly useful to him, but one way or another, he would form a battle plan.

xxxxx

Eomer watched his friends slowly wending their way down the hill. Not only were the entire Dol Amroth crowd departing, but also Faramir, and Aragorn had returned to fetch his bride. Meduseld would be very quiet as they adjusted to the sudden decrease in their numbers.

Still, he had been glad of their presence. Imrahil had given wise counsel, while Sirrin had stepped forward to assist Eowyn in setting the household in order. He was pleased that the two seemed to get along so well, as he was sure Eowyn would need some guidance as she attempted to settle into Gondorian society. She would be grateful to have a friend in whom she could confide, and not feel shy about asking questions.

As for Lothiriel, he suspected she was so focused on avoiding him that she had not taken much opportunity to come to know Eowyn, though he hoped that would change. They were near the same age, and Eowyn would welcome friendly faces among her soon-to-be kin.

Lothiriel. She had managed to keep mostly to her room until their departure, though he noted she made a point to ‘improve’ so they would not be delayed in leaving! None of her family seemed to have guessed at her subterfuge regarding her health, but he was quite convinced it was all pretense. She was bruised and sore, he was sure, but that was all.

A voice beside him pulled him from his reverie. “I thought I got the impression that the lady…appealed to you, Eomer,” Eothain said carefully, slanting a glance at his friend.

“She does,” Eomer replied quietly, still gazing after the departing group. “However, I do not _yet_ appeal to her!”

There was silence for several moments until Eothain snickered. “I see! Well, I hope she realizes how formidable you can be in your determination!” He clapped the king on the back before laughing and striding away.

“On the contrary,” Eomer murmured, still gazing at the party growing ever smaller in the distance. “I hope she does _not_ realize that! It will make things far easier.”

_TBC_

3002: Elphir – 15, Erchirion – 12, Amrothos – 8, Lothiriel – 3 ; Boromir – 24, Faramir – 19

Brythred – (“wisdom giver”)   
Dreng – (“youth”)  
Alcathir – (“shining face”) – wife of Elphir  
Sirrin – (“river queen”)


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Lothiriel should have guessed what was coming when the first letter arrived. Perhaps she had underestimated the king, or thought distance made her safe, but whatever the reason she was not alarmed by the missive he sent.

_Lady Lothiriel,_

_I thought I would check to see how you are faring, since the few days prior to your departing my land were so difficult for you. I am sorry you had to face such unpleasantness on your outing, and that you then had to suffer an illness as well. It surely cannot have left you with a good impression of the Riddermark, and I do beg your forgiveness. I assure you that you were not seeing us at our best, and I hope you will return one day, giving us an opportunity to redeem ourselves._

_I had hoped to find some time to talk with you while you were here, to learn more of you and your own country. Your father and brothers have told me some things, but I think perhaps a lady is more inclined to paint pictures with her words than are men. I might have imposed on your mother, but I hesitated to discourage her assisting Eowyn in ordering the household of Meduseld. There was much to be done, and I greatly appreciated her eagerly helpful attitude, as I am sure Eowyn did._

_I will not make this note long, as I am sure you are very busy and I would not wish to encroach upon your time, but I do hope my letter finds you well, and I will look forward to our meeting again when my sister weds your cousin in the spring._

_Cordially,  
Eomer-King_

She reread it several times, a perplexed expression settling on her face. She wasn’t entirely sure _what_ to make of this. It was everything polite and proper, it did not hint at any attraction toward her, but it was still unexpected. In some ways, it made her feel guilty. He had been most kind and considerate of her in all their few dealings, and she had done nothing but shun his company at every turn. What must he think of her and her behavior? It had not been her intent to make him think she did not like him, but only to discourage too much familiarity.

And, yet, there was nothing to suggest he had taken any offense at her manner… So what was his purpose? Just friendly discourse with the daughter of a dear friend? Was it as simple as he stated in the letter itself – that he was sorry for her difficulties and was grateful for the help her family had given while there?

Whatever it meant, she felt she must respond or be unforgivably rude. She did not know Rohan’s standards in such things, but Gondor protocols demanded an answer within a sennight of receiving it. Even knowing that, though, it took her some time to decide what to write. Since he had made mention of wanting to ask about her homeland, she thought that a safe subject. It would fill much of the letter and make it appear longer and more in depth than it truly was, thus replying without much effort.

It turned out to be more involved than she expected, since she found she had written several pages in order to adequately describe the sea and shore, the ships in the harbor and the gulls overhead, the islands visible on the horizon, Dol Amroth’s castle on the hill and even her own garden therein. She almost decided against sending such a long treatise to him, but perhaps it would bore him so he would cease their communication at this point. Men usually did not care to read such tedious things. With that thought in mind, she sealed the letter and took it to her father to send in the next packet.

Her plan didn’t work. Only four weeks later she was looking at another letter from Rohan’s king. To her relief, Erchirion had not questioned her about it when he brought it to her, though she was sure he knew who had written it. Going out to sit in her garden, to take advantage of the late afternoon sun, she slit the seal to see what more Eomer could possibly have written to her.

_My dear lady Lothiriel,_

_You are too kind to indulge me with such a delightful description of Dol Amroth and your home there. Your vivid wording made me almost feel as if I stood beside you, seeing it with my own eyes. I should very much like to do so one day, and your father has invited more than once that I come to visit. Perhaps when I travel to Gondor for the wedding, I will be able to take some additional time and journey south to see this southern jewel. I have never glimpsed the sea for myself, though some of my men have and seem quite impressed with the immenseness of it._

_Amrothos and Erchirion both eagerly spoke of the pleasure to be had in sailing, and though I have some concerns about it, I would of course trust them to introduce the activity to me. Hopefully I would find it as enjoyable as they do, if I am spared the sickness I have heard some people suffer._

_Aragorn – pardon me, King Elessar to you – is quite determined to open the Dimholt road, and if we are successful in that venture, it will make travel and trade between our two countries far easier. Perhaps when I come to visit, I can speak with tradesmen there about exchanging goods with my land, though it will take some time before Rohan has much surplus to spare in trade. I do not know what all would be available from the south, but I am sure my people would enjoy something new, and greater contact with our neighbors._

_Your father mentioned that you like to garden, and if there had been time I would have sought your counsel while you were here. The garden behind Meduseld is sadly neglected, and Eowyn has too many other concerns to give it her attention. I must try to find someone to work on it, and see if I cannot make it presentable once again. I remember playing there as a boy, when we would visit my uncle, and it was a refuge from the world when my parents died and we came here to live. I should very much like to see it restored, if not to the memory I hold then at least something like it. I do not know that you can do such a thing over this great distance, and without having seen it, but if you have advice to offer on the matter, I would welcome it._

_Well, I must close as it is time for me to meet with my council. No doubt they have many problems they wish me to resolve in an instant! Their supply of such seems never ending._

_My thanks for your good wishes and hope that this letter finds you well._

_Cordially,  
Eomer_

Glancing around her own garden, Lothiriel tried to remember her few glimpses of the one behind Meduseld. He did not seem to know that she had in fact seen it while visiting, and had been saddened by its abandoned appearance. It was a pity he had not found time to ask her opinion while she was there, as she was quite sure she could have given him useful guidance. Perhaps she still could, if only from memory, and he could remind her of any details she had forgotten or overlooked. Of course, it would make a difference that they were in the north and had a colder climate than her garden enjoyed. Hardier plants would be needed, and some flowers might not do well there. She would have to do some reading to see what her books suggested for places where it got colder…

In the distraction of thinking about gardens and suggestions about them, she did not notice that Eomer had closed his letter in a more informal manner. For that matter, his greeting had been warmer than might be expected, but she had overlooked these details, focusing instead on the issues he had raised.

Her next letter waxed eloquent as to the pleasures of sailing, and she assured him her brothers were both excellent sailors. The surrounding small islands could be quite interesting to explore, and all of the family had visited them many times. They would have to make a point of taking Eomer when he came to Dol Amroth.

She also sketched out what she remembered of Meduseld’s garden, and offered ideas on what might be done. She mentioned that perhaps there was a widow in Edoras who could use a little money to work on it when she had time, both assisting her and getting the garden in order. Her response was sent off in a packet less than a sennight after she received his letter.

Her family could not help noticing the sudden spate of correspondence between Eomer and Lothiriel. However, as all of them believed it to be an excellent and desirable match, regardless of any prophecy, none dared mention it for fear of upsetting the applecart. Lothiriel was speaking to Eomer, at least, and that was a start. Whatever the outcome, they would do what they could to help it along.

Eomer’s letters continued to find topics to draw Lothiriel into a response, all the while slipping in small details about himself and his life. Though she did not realize it consciously, she was learning a great deal about this man she had tried so hard to avoid. Never did he say anything that alluded to a possible alliance between them; in fact, there was every appearance that they were merely cordial letters to an acquaintance. And Lothiriel was completely drawn in. 

They continued to correspond through the course of the winter, when messengers could get through, but then in early February, Eomer suddenly stopped writing for more than a month. Lothiriel was unprepared for a messenger to arrive but have there be no missive in the packet for her. Nor was there one in the subsequent two packets. She tried to subtly question her father as to whether something was amiss in Rohan, but he indicated that things seemed to be going well. Why then had the letters stopped so abruptly, she wondered?

Finally, a new letter did come, though she became so wrapped up in answering it that she didn’t notice it failed to really address the reason for the brief interruption.

_My dear Lothiriel,_

_My apologies for taking so long in answering your last letter. Life seems to get ever busier now that we are nearing spring, and Eowyn’s wedding._

_I wonder if you might be able to help me with a new matter. I have long thought that I did not adequately express my gratitude to your father for his rescuing Eowyn after the Pelennor. When I come to Gondor for the wedding, I should like to bring him a gift, but I confess that I have no idea what he might like. I can never repay his many kindnesses, of course, but I should like to do something special to show my great appreciation. Perhaps you are able to offer some suggestions?_

_I should have thought of this sooner, I know, for I have given you little time to think on the matter and respond, but I would be ever so grateful for any guidance you might give. I considered asking Sirrin about it, but wives tend to think in more practical terms when it comes to gifts. I would wish to give him something completely frivolous and pleasurable, rather than merely needful._

_I hope you are well, and we shall see you soon at Minas Tirith._

_My thanks in advance, and all good wishes to your family._

_Eomer_

What Lothiriel did not grasp was that Eomer knew full well what was likely to be her reaction to his letters, including this one. He had intentionally ceased writing for a time, to hopefully cause a feeling of disappointment in her when they were withdrawn, and then purposely did not explain his reasons. Plying her with further questions, he was sure he could distract her, at least momentarily, and she would become so wrapped up in her response that she failed to question his motives. That she had replied to each and every letter he wrote, and usually in great length and detail, told him that he had gotten past her defenses with his apparently cordial but distant missives. The next step was to see her face to face again, and keep her from fleeing his presence at every opportunity. Whether she knew it or not, she would be seeing a great deal of him at Minas Tirith!

Eomer’s assessment was correct, and Lothiriel immediately responded to his letter with an enthusiastic description of her father’s enjoyment of chess. She mused that perhaps they had unique-looking chess pieces in Rohan, and possibly he could bring a set of those for her father.

His next letter praised her idea and furthered it by indicating he would have pieces specially carved just for the Prince. Lothiriel felt immense satisfaction that her suggestion had been so well received, but then he had listened to most of her opinions with gratitude and respect. As a woman in Gondor society, that was not always the case. Most of the noblemen were satisfied with her being little more than an attractive ornament on their arm. A brain and any sort of intelligence was not particularly required, or indeed preferred. Intelligent women were deemed rather threatening.

Not until she was packing for the trip to Minas Tirith for the wedding, did Lothiriel remember that she wanted to avoid being in Eomer’s company. She frowned at the thought. Perhaps that was no longer necessary. He had demonstrated no special interest in her, certainly done nothing to court her, and after having written to him for the whole of the winter, it would be both strange and awkward to elude him now.

She finally shrugged and continued selecting gowns from the wardrobe to take. Obviously Mithrandir had been mistaken, at least so far as Eomer was concerned. Just like King Elessar, she thought she could safely cross him off the list of possibilities, and with no other kings in evidence, it seemed she could finally be at peace for a while and simply enjoy this visit to the great city.

xxxxx

“You are up to something. I can tell,” Eowyn remarked, eyeing Eomer closely.

The king glanced at his sister, riding beside him, and smiled innocently. “What do you mean?”

“I cannot put my finger on anything specific, but your behavior is…suspect. And Gamling mentioned you had been corresponding with Lothiriel – why would you do that?” Eowyn answered.

He shrugged. “I sought her counsel on a few matters – the garden, a gift for Imrahil. What is so unusual about that? If one has a question, they ask anyone who might have the answer they need.”

Eowyn stared at him skeptically. “Am I supposed to believe that is all there is to it? You are up to something,” she emphatically reaffirmed.

“Believe what you wish,” Eomer told her, turning his gaze forward once again, and suppressing a smirk.

As it was clear he would give her no answers, Eowyn subsided, but also determined to keep an eye on him in Gondor. What she did not realize was that Eomer fully anticipated the presence of Faramir and her pending wedding to distract her once they reached Mundburg. Whatever she might intend at this moment, he felt certain it would be forgotten amid other concerns when they arrived.

Their entrance into the White City was met with much excitement, and large crowds of people thronged the streets to shout welcome and cheer them. While Eomer knew it was partly for him, on behalf of the Rohirrim, he understood that much of it was acclamation and acceptance of their Steward’s chosen bride, and that warmed his heart. Eowyn was clearly overwhelmed by the outpouring of goodwill, and Eomer had never seen a wider smile upon her face.

When they were met by the King and Queen, attended by Faramir, Eomer almost thought it was to be a sedate, formal encounter. But, though Eowyn tried mightily to restrain herself, once they had stepped inside the hall and away from prying eyes, she flung herself into Faramir’s arms and greeted him more fervently. None of the royals with them could object to her fervor, and all three smiled indulgently, particularly at the sight of Faramir’s brief loss of composure as he responded with similar enthusiasm.

After several moments, Eomer cleared his throat. “Eowyn, do you suppose we might continue on to our quarters? I am sure Aragorn has other things to do today besides stand here and wait for you to finish greeting your betrothed.”

Aragorn snickered and Arwen smiled, causing Eowyn to draw back with a blush, and Faramir colored as well. “Hush, brother! Would you be so sedate if you were greeting your lady love? I think not!” she declared challengingly.

Eomer merely shrugged. “But I am not, and you are delaying things with this unseemly display.”

“Unseemly!” She smacked his arm. “Do not think I will forget this when you are in love and due to marry! I shall tease you mercilessly!” she retorted.

“I am sure you will,” Eomer said benignly, then grinned. “Which is why I feel justified in doing my own teasing now!” Catching her hand, he wrapped it around his arm. “Come. At least let us be settled in our rooms and then you may go off and be with Faramir, without making the rest of us endure your greetings!”

She scowled at him, but followed along as they all began moving again. Faramir fell in behind them with an amused smile on his face. He had been a little uncertain about showing such affection in front of Eowyn’s brother, but clearly Eomer had no objections to it.

Though seemingly paying no attention, Eomer noted Faramir’s remarks indicating his family from Dol Amroth was to arrive the next day. As Eomer was shown to the room he usually used when in Minas Tirith, Faramir asked from the door. “Would you care to ride down to the Harlond with me tomorrow morning to greet my uncle? The boat is due in mid-morning.”

Eomer pretended to consider this, then told him, “Of course. It will be good to see them again. That is, unless Aragorn has other plans that require me.”

Aragorn was still hovering in the hall and now stepped up beside his Steward. “No, nothing is planned. I thought you would wish to rest after your journey, and with wedding preparations, I will not schedule any meetings for you until afterwards. You are at leisure, my friend.”

Rohan’s king grinned with pleasure at the notion, then asked pointedly, “A welcome thought – but will _my_ ‘friends’ have any leisure to share that time with me?”

Aragorn laughed and shrugged. “I will do my best, but a king can never promise such things, as you well know!”

Now Arwen chimed in, moving beside her husband. “He will make time for you, Eomer. I will see to it. He needs your company as much as you desire his.” She smiled and caught her husband’s arm, giving it a loving squeeze. From the look on Aragorn’s face, he was more than willing to do anything this woman asked of him. 

Come to think of it, Eomer mused, he already had. The three of them moved on to Eowyn’s room, as Eomer and his esquire began to get his belongings settled. Then, after removing his armor and having a quick wash, Eomer straightened his clothing and made his way into the hall. They had indicated he was not needed, and he felt a great inclination to stretch his legs. A walk through town would suit right now. A quick knock at Eothain’s door brought his captain into view. “I am going into town. Care to join me?”

Eothain grinned. “Only if this visit to town entails at least one mug of ale!”

“I think that can be arranged,” Eomer chuckled, “though I cannot vouch for the quality of the drink!”

The big man shrugged. “So long as it is wet, and tastes reasonably like ale, I will manage.” He cast a glance back at his room where he had been unpacking his belongings, then shrugged again and left, closing the door on the untidiness within.

“How are the horses?” Eomer asked as they moved through the halls. “Any problems from the journey?”

“I did not linger to find out, but Brythred will send word if there is a problem. He is most diligent.”

After a momentary pause, they both laughed. Brythred was not just diligent; he bordered on obsessive when it came to his equine charges. When possible, Eomer tended his own horse, but as king that was more difficult. It was good to know that such a man as Brythred was doing it in his stead. He would know more about Firefoot’s condition at any given moment than even Firefoot did! And it was the same with all the horses in his stable. Anyone working for Brythred had better be prepared to give even more than their best effort in the work.

Outside the hall, they picked up Eomer’s escort of two guards and headed into town. At Edoras, Eomer moved more freely about, and did not always require guards attending him, but it was thought wise to have such here in this much larger, busier city. And, with the wedding bringing in many visitors, there would be crowds and confusion. Best not to take any chances.

Wryly, Eomer thought to himself how there might not be such concern over his welfare if he had fathered a few sons to rule in his place if he was killed. But sons required a wife, and he had not gotten that far yet. The direction of his thoughts led him to musings about Lothiriel. He was rather surprised by how eager he felt to see her again. After all, his sole intent in this campaign had simply been to win her friendship, and stop this silly habit she had of hiding from him. He had never really considered her as a marriage companion, despite all the talk of it in connection with Gandalf’s prophecy. He simply did not like someone avoiding him without due cause. If she didn’t like him, that would be one thing, but to dodge him without even knowing him was unacceptable.

An image of her drifted into his mind’s eye, causing his mouth to tweak ever so slightly. He wondered if she had yet realized what he had been doing with his many letters to her. He suspected not – her replies always seemed completely innocent and unaware. In that respect, he felt a little guilty, but it was for the best. His friendship with her family, and soon a marital tie through her cousin, meant they would often have occasion to meet. She could not avoid him forever. It was best to dispense with that difficulty as soon as possible.

Shoving aside his unruly thoughts, Eomer focused on the bright sunshine in the brilliant blue sky, and having the leisure to do exactly as he pleased for a while. It did not take long for Eothain to sniff out a likely inn for their drink, though his ease in the matter suggested to the king that he was already familiar with this place – possibly from their previous visit here.

_TBC_

3002: Elphir – 15, Erchirion – 12, Amrothos – 8, Lothiriel – 3 ; Boromir – 24, Faramir – 19

Brythred – (“wisdom giver”)   
Dreng – (“youth”)  
Alcathir – (“shining face”) – wife of Elphir  
Sirrin – (“river queen”)


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Eomer had only visited the Harlond that one time with Erchirion. In the Riddermark, there were small boats and ferry crossings, but nothing so grand as this port on the Anduin. It was bustling with activity, and he watched it with a curious eye as Faramir explained all that he was seeing, reiterating much of what Erchirion had previously told him. 

Eowyn had joined them for the outing, though Eomer suspected it had more to do with a desire to spend time with her betrothed than an eagerness to greet his Dol Amroth kin. For all his teasing, he couldn’t fault her that. She had been correct yesterday – he would have behaved similarly were he here for his own wedding, and being reunited with his betrothed. For some reason, the realization that he was not made him a little sad. He had been feeling that more and more often lately, and he very much thought it partly had to do with sorrow at the idea of losing Eowyn to Gondor. He would still see her, it was true, but not nearly so often. When he returned to Meduseld, he would be alone, all his family gone in one way or another.

His advisers were still nudging him toward marriage – some more blatantly than others. The idea had merit, of course, and he was not opposed to it, but he would not marry simply for marriage sake or a desperate need of heirs. He wanted a beloved wife and mother to his children. Any woman free of child-bearing difficulties could provide him with children, but she could not necessarily be what he wanted in a wife – and a large part of what he wanted was love. Political alliances and practical considerations be hanged! It was easy enough for a woman to inspire lust in a man, but not so easy for her to set a fire burning inside him that would never be quenched. He saw that fire in Aragorn, and Faramir as well. And, though long years had passed since he had wed, Eomer still saw it in Imrahil also. Was he expecting too much to want that for himself? His advisers seemed to view it as an unnecessary consideration, but in this he would not yield. He would give himself to the Riddermark for all of his days, but he would not give himself so readily to any woman.

Annoyingly, his thoughts turned again to Lothiriel. That blasted prophecy! Without it, likely he would never even have considered Lothiriel and marriage in the same thought. Why did outsiders always seem so determined to meddle in affairs of the heart of others?

A horn sounded, and as they looked the boat came into view around a bend, slowly edging toward the docks. Having been here numerous times, Faramir led them to a goodly spot to watch the landing, answering their questions while they waited.

“What do they do with their horses when they travel by boat?” Eowyn asked.

“There is a hold with small stalls built in. The horses travel by boat also, and a bit more in style than on a ferry. When they dock, I will take you onboard and show you,” Faramir explained.

As it came nearer, Eomer could see someone standing on the deck and waving vigorously. Clearly it was a woman and, after a few moments, he realized it was Lothiriel. Presumably her greeting was for Faramir, who raised his hand to wave back, as did Eowyn. He was the last to do so, making only a cursory motion before letting his hand fall back to his side.

Uncharacteristically, he felt nervousness tightening his stomach, but he avoided dwelling on it or its cause. Her brothers had joined Lothiriel on deck, and they also waved briefly, before Erchirion said something to the others and they all moved away from the rail. 

Lothiriel had not expected to be so anxious. She had been fine for the bulk of the journey, but now that they were here, her stomach was in knots and her heart seemed to be racing madly in her chest. Deciding she was just worried about how Eomer might approach her after their correspondence, she steeled herself to behave cordially. If he began to display too much attention, once they reached the city she could resume her evasive tactics. That had worked before, it would work now.

It took quite a while to work the large boat up to the dock and get it moored. By the time it was secured, Imrahil’s family was gathered for debarking, and they cautiously made their way down the ramp. For some reason, Eomer’s eyes wanted to stray to Lothiriel, but with a firm act of will he made sure to only glance at her briefly before focusing on the others and greeting them. After these many months, it would undo all his efforts if he took much note of her, and possibly it would set her at ease with him if he didn’t, maybe even cause a twinge of disappointment at this lack of attention.

His disinterest put her off her guard; she had at least expected a more cordial greeting. Not that he had been rude or anything, but it was almost as if they were strangers, and she had thought they were beyond that now. Her brow wrinkled slightly with bewilderment, but she then forced an impassive look on her countenance. It was of little matter. She did not want his attentions so this was all to the good. She could now stop worrying that he might have developed an interest in her through their letters, as that was clearly not the case. Somehow, though, that knowledge was not so satisfying as she had expected. She could not help wondering what he may have found wanting in her…

After hearty welcomes, as promised Faramir took Eowyn aboard to see the stalls in the hold, and Eomer decided to join them. Meanwhile, Imrahil saw to getting their baggage packed onto wagons and all arranged for their departure to the city. The family was ready to go once the three returned from a tour of the boat, and they set off.

Sirrin could not help noticing a tenseness in her daughter’s posture as they rode along in the carriage. Many times she had been tempted to pursue discussion of Lothiriel’s thoughts and feelings, but her daughter had seemed to concertedly shut herself off from them, doing all she could to avoid confiding in anyone. She knew Lothiriel was concerned about Mithrandir’s prophecy, and its meaning, but she wasn’t at all sure her daughter wasn’t making this more difficult than it needed to be. Perhaps it would help her to know that her family wanted what was best for her, whether or not it was part of a wizard’s prophecy.

“Dearest, are you all right?” Sirrin began. “You seem strained.”

“I am fine,” Lothiriel replied, looking out the window to avoid her mother’s gaze. Not entirely truthfully, she added, “I was just thinking of the wedding.”

Her stiffness and reluctance to talk almost silenced Sirrin, but she decided to press ahead a little further anyway. “Much as I rejoice in seeing dear Faramir so happily wed, it will please me even more when it is your wedding day. You shall be a beautiful bride, my love!”

Lothiriel did not find those words comforting; indeed, she stiffened even more. With a soft sigh, Sirrin moved over to sit beside her daughter and wrap an arm around her shoulders. “Dearest, your father and I would never press you into a marriage not of your choosing. We just want your happiness – the sort of happiness we have with each other. Trust your heart, and eventually you will find the right man.”

“Considering the prophecy, my choices are somewhat limited, would you not agree?” Lothiriel’s voice held a bitter note.

“We cannot know what precisely the prophecy means, or does not mean, but do not let that color your thinking. Like or dislike a man for who he is and let destiny fall into its own place. But know that we love you no matter what.”

Lothiriel gave a small nod, but did not look at her mother. Sirrin wasn’t sure she had provided the comfort she had hoped to impart, but perhaps Lothiriel was going to have to find her own peace with this. She gave Lothiriel’s shoulders a squeeze and pressed a kiss to her hair, before returning to her own seat across the carriage.

Lothiriel had to keep a tight rein on her emotions to hold back the tears that wanted to slip out at her mother’s words. She knew Sirrin meant well, but somehow it did not console her in this matter. Glancing up, trying to distract herself, her eyes fell on King Eomer, riding next to her father alongside the carriage. It would be so easy to just give in and accept him. Surely that was what everyone wanted, and she did at least like the man, but she could not truly say that she felt about him as her parents felt about each other. He was pleasant and charming and many things desirable, but love? If her mother truly meant she should seek love, then she did not believe she was there yet. Not with King Eomer or anyone else. She closed her eyes, both to shut out the sight of him and, for a few moments, the world itself.

Most of the rest of the day, Lothiriel helped her mother get the household in order while her father and brothers were off somewhere with business or friends. Not until the next day was there a gathering to celebrate the upcoming wedding. With improved conditions, through the winter Lothiriel had gained new gowns to replace many of the ones she had given up during the War, so at least she did not feel dowdy in appearance. She still did not see true beauty when she gazed in her mirror, but she supposed the gowns did look well on her, and possibly hid some of her flaws.

The family gathered in the entry hall before they all set off to the Merethrond. Walking between Erchirion and Amrothos, it seemed the two could not form a sentence that didn’t make some mention of the Rohirrim and their king. She kept silent through it all, unwilling to voice an opinion on that particular subject.

The hall was looking very festive. Lothiriel thought she could get used to this cheerier atmosphere. With War looming and Denethor’s ever more dour mood, the Halls of Gondor had been gloomy, dark places. Whenever possible she had avoided visiting them. Now, with victory and a queen in residence, much was changed – all for the better, to Lothiriel’s thinking.

Lothiriel had spent the entire day mentally preparing herself for this. She was determined to be pleasant but distant to King Eomer, just as she had been in her letters. There was no reason to think he was looking to pursue her, so she would not presume that was the case. He knew her and was not interested, so all was well. The prophecy must be referring to someone else.

Her plan worked fairly well, particularly since she had little contact with Eomer for the entire night. As Eowyn’s brother, he was kept occupied near her and greeting well-wishers, leaving Lothiriel free to float around the room well away from him. She had danced a few dances, with her brothers as well as some soldiers, but now paused to sip some wine and cool down from her exertion. She stood in the shadow of a great pillar, leaning against its smooth coolness, and idly watching the dancers floating by.

Feminine voices broke into her thoughts, and she realized others stood nearby though she could not see them around the pillar. “Did you see how he looks at her? Now there will be an excellent match! And that will surely strengthen the bond between Gondor and Rohan, even more than his sister’s marriage to Lord Faramir.”

“I know their families are great friends, so I am sure Prince Imrahil would not oppose the match. And was there not some sort of prediction made long ago that Lothiriel would wed a king? Oh, it is so exciting to contemplate! Our Princess of Dol Amroth wed to King Eomer!”

The two women moved away, still gossiping, but Lothiriel stood staring blindly at the dance floor. How he looked at her? Her eyes flicked to Eomer, but he was laughing at something Eowyn had said. She had never noticed him looking at her with any particular regard – had she missed something? Clearly it was so, if others had noticed such. She had thought herself safe; his letters had seemed nothing but friendly correspondence. His letters… Only now did it occur to her how free had been their discourse in those letters. While they had not spoken of love and romance and courtship, they had subtly told her of him and his life. She had believed she came to know him through those letters, but now she wondered if that was truly so. Had he been courting her all the while and she was too naïve to realize it?

The wine tasted bitter in her mouth and she set down the goblet with annoyance. What a fool she was! She had never been the master of her own fate. Everyone else seemed determined to guide it for her, as though they knew better than she what was best. She turned sharply on her heel, crashing into Amrothos who had silently approached her from behind. “Oh, there you are Lothiriel. Steady! Are you ready for another dance?” he asked.

“No,” she answered curtly. “I have a headache. Will you see me home?”

Her brother eyed her in surprise. She had been in excellent spirits earlier; it was hard to believe a headache had developed so suddenly. Still, she clearly was upset about something, so probably best to get her away from this crowd. Possibly she would confide in him. “Of course, dearest. Let me fetch your cloak. The evening has turned cool.”

While he was gone, she paced in a small circle awaiting his return. Unnoticed, Eomer had spotted her from his place on the dais, and his eyes narrowed at her clear agitation. Why was she distressed? He could not have caused it, not having been able to get near her most of the evening. Whatever it was, Amrothos appeared and wrapped her cloak around her. Evidently she was leaving. He would likely get no answers tonight, but it niggled at the back of his mind the remainder of the evening.

Amrothos’ efforts to draw her out and inspire her to speak of her distress did not work, and in the end he left her at her door with a kiss to the forehead, before returning to the festivities. Their parents were surprised when they learned she had left, and Sirrin cast worried looks toward the exit. Imrahil sighed and rubbed his neck. “I wish I knew what to do for her, to put her at ease. But Mithrandir’s words will always overshadow her, no matter what we do or say.” He glanced toward Eomer, then added, “I had thought perhaps their letters were a step in the right direction, but it would seem I was mistaken. Perhaps if she spoke to Mithrandir and found out more…”

Erchirion snorted. “Plain speaking from that wizard? That will never happen, Father. I do not think Mithrandir knows how to speak in anything but riddles, and I am not sure he would explain even if he could.”

“Maybe if you spoke to Eomer,” Sirrin ventured.

Erchirion shook his head. “I have told Eomer of all this. He wondered back in May why he had not met her, when she was so determinedly avoiding him and Elessar, so I explained. He thinks she is being silly, but he did promise not to torment her over it. He has seemed to keep his word, and I did not get the impression that Lothiriel was bothered by his letters, though I do not entirely understand his purpose in writing to her.”

“Possibly he just wanted her to get to know him so she would stop avoiding him,” Amrothos astutely offered.

“Well, if that is so, it did not help,” Imrahil observed. 

“I think I should go and check on her,” Sirrin said, and her husband nodded.

“I will come also. There will be plenty of other festivities to enjoy.” He moved away to collect their cloaks, while his sons were deciding to remain longer.

A short while later, they were talking with Faramir and his betrothed, with Eomer lingering nearby. “Your family left early,” Eowyn commented. “Is all well?”

The two were reluctant to discuss Lothiriel outside of the family, so Erchirion simply responded, “A little tired from the boat ride, perhaps. And Lothiriel withdrew with a headache, so I am sure Mother wanted to check on her.”

Eomer made no comment, taking another swallow of wine. Though there was nothing that should have connected these events to him, he could not help thinking they were, and he was convinced that both Erchirion and Amrothos were sneaking glances his way.

By the next day, Eomer could partially guess what was going on, for Lothiriel was back to her evasive actions regarding him. It didn’t help matters when the King of Dale arrived for the wedding. The man was clearly married, his wife on his arm, and with them were two children. The eldest and heir was a boy of a mere eleven years, and the girl a few years less than that. It was certain that Mithrandir’s prophecy could not have meant an alliance with Dale. Eomer was sure that would persuade Lothiriel that he was her only option. He hissed in annoyance. That meddling Istar! How was he ever going to get past her defenses now?

For the next few days, Eomer had to endure Lothiriel keeping a safe distance between him. It bothered him more than he was willing to admit. Some part of him had been looking forward to seeing her here, and spending time in her company now that his letters had softened her opposition to knowing him. All that had been changed in an instant and it…hurt. But with all the press of preparing for the wedding, Eomer could not allow himself to dwell on the situation too freely, and he forced his attention to the matters at hand.

xxxxx

The wedding was all that one might expect for the Steward of Gondor, but especially significant because Faramir was so beloved of the people. Aragorn made it a point to spare no effort in making this the grandest event ever. His coronation and wedding the previous year had been grand, but now he stepped back from the limelight and made sure Faramir was in the forefront of everything. He regarded his Steward just as highly as did their people, and he wanted this event to be memorable. Though, he fully realized, Faramir was apt to remember little else than the lovely Eowyn pledging herself to him! Aragorn knew his own wedding had passed in a haze; only the sight of Arwen accepting him as her husband stood out clearly in his memories of that day.

As both of them were family to the wedding couple, Lothiriel could not entirely avoid Eomer, though she was relieved that he made no particular effort to approach her. In some ways, that saddened her. She wondered if he realized how much of himself he had revealed in his letters, with his comments about his childhood and life, as well as the concerns he had expressed about the future of him and his people. He was a fine man, and she had truly wanted to call him a friend, as did the rest of her family. 

Now he stood not far from her, looking impossibly handsome. When they had met last year, and on the trip to Rohan, he had barely made the transition from soldier to king. Now he wore that role more easily, and to her eyes he had a more kingly bearing. She suspected Eowyn had a hand in altering his wardrobe to better suit a monarch, and the rich colors and materials accentuated his strength and power, his regal countenance. She had not missed the many longing glances thrown his way by the ladies of Gondor. They would gladly have elbowed her aside to be near him, and while she might be avoiding conversation and time in his company, they would not be so reticent.

Her eyes darkened with irritation. How could they be so shallow as to only concern themselves with his good looks and office of king? Did they have any idea the struggles he had known in his life, that he still had? Did they care? They were eager to be named his queen, but did they understand what that would entail? A Rohirric queen would not sit lazily about in rich clothing and dining on sweet meats and pastries. She had seen Eowyn working hard to keep Meduseld in order, and knew that likely it was even harder than it appeared to her eyes. Rohan was not a place for faint-hearted maidens!

She took a swallow of wine, almost choking at the too large gulp. Why was she even thinking about this? If she wished to elude Eomer, then the answer was clear – he must marry someone else. And why did that realization give her a pang rather than hope? She forced her thoughts aside, unwilling to examine them more closely, and pressed her attention back to the gathering. But her good humor had fled, and she had to pretend liveliness and laughter after that.

_TBC_

3002: Elphir – 15, Erchirion – 12, Amrothos – 8, Lothiriel – 3 ; Boromir – 24, Faramir – 19

Brythred – (“wisdom giver”)   
Dreng – (“youth”)  
Alcathir – (“shining face”) – wife of Elphir  
Sirrin – (“river queen”)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, so, the finale, finally! Hope you find it satisfying.

**Chapter 8**

“Get the King at once,” Brythred hissed to his young companion. “No, wait! Go to Eothain, and he will fetch the King. They likely will not let you near him, but Eothain will not be stopped!”

Dreng answered with a toothy grin of understanding; Eothain’s reputation was well known. He dashed out of the stable and hurried to the upper level gate. Even wearing livery of Rohan, he was detained there longer than he wished, explaining his errand, but at last he was sent on to the king’s house. More delays ensued, but finally he reached Eothain’s room and knocked loudly. 

Muttering curses under his breath, Eothain stumbled sleepily over to open the door, feeling the effects of the previous night’s drinking. “What!” he demanded, snatching the door wide and scowling into the hall.

For a moment, Dreng cringed back, but then stammered, “C…captain Eothain, Firefoot is cast in his stall. You must fetch the king!”

There was an instant of blankness before his words registered in Eothain’s fogged brain. “Get back to the stable and help Brythred. We will be right there.” Shoving the door closed, he snatched on trousers and a shirt, then tugged on his boots and hurried out the door and down the hall.

As he reached for Eomer’s door latch, one of Elessar’s servants appeared and tried to stop him. “My lord! You cannot go in there. The King may not be disturbed from his sleep!”

“You are mistaken. He _can_ and _will_ be disturbed – by me!” Eothain glowered, causing the man to fall back a step. Not waiting for further argument, or bothering to knock, Eothain jerked the door open, letting it bang against the wall as he hurried toward Eomer’s bed.

The king had come awake at the noise of the door, bolting upright in bed and reaching automatically for his sword, having forgotten it was across the room.

“It is me, Eomer. Firefoot is cast. Come quickly.” There was no reason for a lot of fancy talk; that was sufficient for Eomer to understand and react.

He bounded up from the bed, and his movements matched those Eothain made earlier. Not bothering with fine clothing, he donned trousers, shirt and boots before the two men ran from the room. The guards were a little startled as they pelted by, but having recognized the King of Rohan, they decided not to interfere.

The two men skidded into the barn and hurried the length of it to Firefoot’s stall. The great stallion was presently lying still, but was clearly in distress. Talking to him in a low voice, Eomer entered and went to his head, while the others positioned themselves.

xx

Lothiriel wasn’t sure why she had awakened so early, but whatever was making her fretful made it impossible for her to stay in her room. Thinking a walk might help, she strolled out to the grounds, and then continued on down the street from their townhouse. Even this early, with the sun barely up, there was activity around the stables, and she wandered idly in that direction. As she stepped into the barn, she was surprised to see a group of flaxen-haired men gathered down at the far end near a stall. _What were the Rohirrim doing, and wasn’t that Eothain and…Eomer._

Just then the king turned in such a way as to be facing toward her, and apparently had noted her presence. It would be rude to leave without speaking to them, now that she had been noticed, so she continued on down the aisleway.

Eomer had an eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Lady Lothiriel. I did not think to see you here.” 

“I…I was just up early and taking a walk. I happened by the stables, but…but what are you doing up so early?” She glanced at the others and toward the stall next to them. Inside, Eomer’s great gray stallion stood munching on some hay.

“Firefoot became stuck against the stall wall. These Gondorian stalls are not so large as we have at home. I came to help them get him up before he injured himself in the attempt,” Eomer explained.

“Is he all right?” she asked, turning to look at the horse more closely. A young stable lad was at work grooming him, so he did not appear very dirty at present, though perhaps those were scuffed places on him.

“Yes, he will be fine. Fortunately, he is very steady and did not panic. He lost a bit of hair in his few attempts before help arrived, but he has always been clever so he waited when his efforts were unsuccessful.”

Lothiriel had turned back to face Eomer just as he reached up to scratch at his beard. Only then did she notice his attire, such as it was. If someone did not already know he was the king, they would hardly think it from his clothing or appearance. In fact, he appeared rather ‘scruffy’, though to her surprise she found it somewhat appealing. He looked much as the other Rohirrim gathered nearby, but who were now drifting away since the excitement had ended and they had duties to attend.

The sight caught her off her guard, and for a moment she did not know what to say, but apparently Eomer was not so hampered. He had intended to corner her and have this conversation, so now seemed as good a time as any.

“Lady Lothiriel, it has not escaped my notice that you have been avoiding me,” he told her, raising an eyebrow for emphasis.

“I…I…” She stopped her stammering, completely unable to think of a response to his bluntness. She wasn’t sure why it had never occurred to her that he might notice her evasions. Finally she fell silent, unable to deny the accusation and not quite knowing how to explain it.

When it was evident she was not going to reply, Eomer persisted, “Your brother explained about the prophecy made by Gandalf. Being friends with me does not require you to marry me.”

Her eyes went wide in surprise, not having realized he knew about all this. How long had he known? What had her brother told him. She was so caught off her guard, that she blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“What…what if I decide that I _do_ wish to marry you?” she asked softly, blushing furiously. She had no idea where the question had come from, though she truly wanted an answer, but she could not look at him, likely even more stunned at her temerity than he was.

The merest of grins tweaked Eomer’s mouth, but Lothiriel was too discomfited to notice. Finally, looking quite serious, he told her, “Well, in that event, then I suppose you will need to find a way to persuade me to court you!”

At her wide-eyed, stunned expression, he leaned slightly toward her and smilingly added, “Do not look so worried – I do not believe you will find the task to be very difficult!”

She stared at him for several long moments, and then could stand it no longer. “Please excuse me!” she squeaked, bolting for the exit. 

Eomer made no attempt to follow her, his eyes narrowed speculatively. It would seem she was not so immune to his campaign as he had thought. That inadvertent question had revealed much about the effect of his efforts. Perhaps she was more inclined to know him than she even realized. Still, how to proceed now? She was as skittish as a yearling just starting training, and she would require careful handling. But now he knew that it was not hopeless. And why did that please him so immensely?

xx

Lothiriel hurried down through the silent streets of Minas Tirith, unwilling to return home until she had time to calm herself and put her disarrayed thoughts in order. What had just happened? And why on earth would she ask him such a question! _“I do not believe you will find the task to be very difficult!”_ Why had his words warmed her so, and sent a thrill of excitement coursing through her? She did not want him to court her! She did not want to marry him! _Did she?_

She clasped her head in frustration. What was this man doing to her! She had been confused ever since that first encounter with him, and nothing since then had improved matters. She must avoid him, must not let him get her alone. He would return to Rohan now that the wedding was ended, and she would return to Dol Amroth. Perhaps then she could finally find peace. Likely they would have little reason to see one another ever again. And she refused to acknowledge the sorrow that thought provoked.

For a while, she was successful. She redoubled her efforts at evasion and was able to elude him, though some part of her rebelled at her victory. However, despite getting what she wanted, looking at him across a room, on the few occasions when their gazes met, she did not feel entirely victorious. Why did she have the distinct impression that he had allowed her to win, and that he could turn it around in an instant if he chose? And why did part of her want him to try? Always she looked hastily away at such times, but some part of her knew that he still watched…and waited. That knowledge left her slightly breathless with anticipation…for she knew not what.

The Rohirrim remained at Minas Tirith longer than she had expected, and she overheard her father mention that Eomer had decided to extend his stay. She wondered if she was part of the reason, but as he continued to keep his distance, it was difficult to lend credence to that notion.

Despite all her precautions, however, he arrived at their door one day just as she came into the entry hall. Eothain accompanied him, to her relief, and she sent a servant to fetch her father while remaining to politely keep them company until Imrahil arrived. As soon as the servant moved toward the door, though, Eothain spoke up, “My lord, I will wait outside for you.” He gave a short bow and followed the servant out, closing the library door behind him as he went and leaving them alone.

Nervously, Lothiriel fidgeted on the couch before rising to offer, “Would you like a glass of wine, my lord?” She moved to the decanter without waiting for his response. Whether he wanted one or not, she was feeling desperately in need of something to drink, and something to occupy her hands.

Eomer had not been seated, but instead had moved over to stand by the window. For the first time he spoke, not answering her question. “I had thought I understood previously that you avoided my company because you feared being pressed into a marriage not of your choosing,” he said quietly, turning to look out the window.

Her hands stilled on the wine decanter and goblet. “Yes…” she reluctantly agreed, wondering why they were having this conversation, and surprised that he knew so much of her circumstances. Apparently her brother had told him everything.

“Yet, I see no evidence that anyone is pressing such a thing upon you, and still you are evasive with regards to me. I do have to wonder what it is that you find so objectionable.” Now he turned back to look at her, his arms crossed over his chest.

Feeling very put on the spot, Lothiriel struggled to come up with an answer, finally blurting out, “Nothing! I do not find you objectionable!”

He gave a lazy smile and quirked an eyebrow at her. “Indeed? I fear your actions bely your words, my lady! If I am _not_ objectionable to you, then why do you avoid me?”

Suddenly the room felt very warm, and she knew her face must be ablaze with color. Certainly she was finding it difficult to breathe. She moved to a bookshelf and fingered a book there, anything to keep occupied and have an excuse not to look at him. In truth, it was a fair question he asked, and she realized she did not have a good answer for it.

He moved so quietly that she did not notice his nearness until he stood right behind her, so close she could feel the warmth radiating from his body. She drew an unsteady breath and forced a reply, “I…I do not know, my lord.”

She doubted very much he would accept something so vague as that, but she was not expecting the arm that slid around her and turned her to face him. “Why, Lothiriel?” he persisted.

Some tiny portion of her brain registered the familiarity of both his words and his tone, but she was finding it difficult to think clearly. She nervously licked her lips as she gazed wide-eyed up at him. “I…I…I am afraid of you!” she whispered breathlessly.

“Afraid? Is that why you tremble now?” he asked, stepping close enough that their bodies touched.

“Y…yes!” she stammered, realizing she was trapped between him and the bookcase.

“What is it about me that frightens you?” he murmured softly. “Perhaps I can act so you will be less fearful.”

At that moment, she felt almost dizzy with desire for…something, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was. Then, his lips brushed lightly against her forehead and in a blinding flash she knew what she wanted. She wanted him, she wanted to be in his arms and have him truly kiss her, she…wanted him to love and marry her!

With a gasp her eyes jerked up to meet his rather amused gaze. Apparently, he could interpret what he read in their depths, for he slowly leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. 

The strangest thoughts began running through her mind – how scratchy his beard felt against her face, how soft his lips were, the masculine smell of him, how hopefully Mithrandir had been right. _Oh, hang Mithrandir!_ she thought in annoyance. Let the wizard mind his own business, and simply let her enjoy this moment and this marvelous man. Her arms slid up around his neck drawing him closer, and he grinned against her lips as he felt her capitulation, but she could not be bothered by it. This wasn’t being foisted on her by others – she was choosing it for herself, and it felt wonderful!

They were lost in the sensations of that moment for quite some time, but when they finally broke the contact in order to breathe, Eomer said softly, “Marry me?”

“Because of the prophecy?” she asked, almost fearfully, not entirely able to let go of it just yet. This moment had been so beautiful; she was sorry he had spoiled it with that question.

“No. Because I love you, and because life is not worth living if you are not part of my life. Please, marry me,” Eomer told her sincerely.

It had all come down to this. She did love him in return; she knew that now. Would she throw it aside in order to avoid fulfilling some prophecy made by a wizard many years ago? It seemed so predictable and planned to accept his proposal, but then she looked into his eyes, gazing tenderly upon her and waiting for an answer. One thing was certain – she had not planned to love him as she did. She had not planned to give her heart so completely. Noblewomen of Gondor usually married for more practical reasons than love, so she had not planned to be any different. And, yet, she was different. With or without the Istar’s soothsaying, she had fallen in love with a good man, and one that happened to be suitable for her to marry. Why should she allow Mithrandir to interfere and set all that at naught?

“Yes, of course! I love you also!” she told him fervently. “I do not have to, but I will! Because I _want_ to.”

_THE END_

10/19/08 – 11/27/08

3002: Elphir – 15, Erchirion – 12, Amrothos – 8, Lothiriel – 3 ; Boromir – 24, Faramir – 19

Brythred – (“wisdom giver”)   
Dreng – (“youth”)  
Alcathir – (“shining face”) – wife of Elphir  
Sirrin – (“river queen”)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _FYI: A "cast" horse refers to one that is stuck on the ground for some reason-- either its legs are under a fence, or the horse has rolled up near a wall or object that prevents it from being able to get up._
> 
> _When a horse is cast, it is at risk for injuries. Cast horses may panic and thrash, injuring themselves on a fence or wall. They can injure their eyes or neck when they struggle to get up. Horses down for long periods of time, especially those lying on their back, may actually suffocate from the pressure of their digestive system pressing against their lungs._
> 
> _Freeing a cast horse is a matter of putting him in the position and giving him the space to go through the naturally awkward movements of regaining his feet. In most cases, you need to roll the horse over to bring his feet away from the wall. With a calm horse, this is not difficult, but you still need to be careful to stay out of harm's way._


End file.
